


Sure On This Shining Night

by Ellidfics



Series: Perennial Blessing [2]
Category: Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Civil War Fix-It, Coma, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Forced Breeding, Internalized Homophobia, Oysters, Rule 63, Rusterman's Restaurant, period attitudes toward homosexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 09:33:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5285675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellidfics/pseuds/Ellidfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephanie Rogers was reborn in time to prevent Norman Osborn from attacking Asgard, but not in time to prevent her best friend from deleting her brain.  Now Antonia Stark, brilliant and beautiful, lies in a coma, beyond medical help.  Can an artifact Steph rescued from Hydra during the war save her, or will is destroy what is left of her mind?  Why is she so reluctant to renew her relationship with a former lover?  And what is the Red Skull's daughter doing at a castle near the Austrian border?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to [A Perennial Blessing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1698872/chapters/3614975), my Cap-Ironman RBB from last spring. The basic idea came to me and wouldn't let ago, and I'm glad I was finally able to bring it to life.
> 
> As for the art - I was lucky enough to have one one but TWO fabulous artists! Check out their gorgeous, gorgeous pictures and give them all the love!
> 
>  
> 
> Dingobait, for [Chapter One](http://dingobait.tumblr.com/post/133953178478/sure-on-this-shining-night-by-ellidfics)
> 
> Fynndin, for [Chapter Ten](http://somepic.someserver.de/pics/big/cc6b5c0ed983162c74bee25938825159.png).

__

CONTROVERSIAL REGISTRATION LAW REPEALED  
Obama Signs Act Rescinding the Superhero Registration Act in Rose Garden Ceremony

WASHINGTON – Responding to calls from the metahuman community and civil rights advocates, President Obama ended the so-called “Era of the SHRA” yesterday afternoon with a stroke of his pen in a Rose Garden ceremony.

“This law, well intentioned as it was, ultimately did more harm than good,” said Mr. Obama in his prepared remarks. “I will be working closely with the metahuman community, the Department of Homeland Security and Congress to rework this law to ensure that all Americans, regardless of ability, mutation, or technological enhancement, receive equal treatment by the courts and the law enforcement community.”

The Superhero Registration Act of 2007, better known as the SHRA, had been a source of controversy since its passage in the wake of the Stamford tragedy. Proponents, most notably industrialist/superhero Tony Stark, had claimed that the SHRA's provisions for registering, training, and assigning metahumans and non-powered superheroes to individual territories would lead to increased public protection. However, others, most prominently Stephanie Rogers, best known for her work as Captain America during World War II, and legal authorities such as Harvard Law School professor Harvey Silverglate, had long decried the SHRA as an unconstitutional infringement upon metahumans’ right to equal protection. 

“I've seen first-hand what happens when one group is singled out by the government,” said Ms. Rogers in one of her last public statements before she resigned her position and went underground to lead a faction resisting the new law. “We're all Americans, regardless of our abilities. Singling out one group for special treatment violates everything this country is supposed to stand for.”

The resulting internecine conflict, which became known as the Superhero Civil War, wrought unprecedented damage upon the metahuman community and America as a whole. Notable events included the attempted assassination of Captain Rogers herself on her way to a court appearance where she intended to challenge the SHRA's constitutionality, the replacement of intelligence agency SHIELD by a new agency called HAMMER headed by industrialist Norman Osborn, and destructive battles between metahumans and HAMMER in New York, Washington, and other major cities. Osborn's recent arrest and imprisonment for his efforts to bring about a war between Asgard and the United States gave the anti-SHRA forces the support they needed to push repeal through Congress. 

Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi, a longtime opponent of the SHRA, promised to work closely with the President and Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid to craft replacement legislation that will allow newly empowered metahumans to receive government training without having to reveal their identities to the public. “The last few years have seen the formerly productive relationship between the American public and our superheroes, who should be our defenders against the forces of terrorism and evil, gravely damaged by a misguided law that was badly applied. We will be introducing new legislation within the month that will satisfy our needs for public safety and individual metahumans' right to privacy.”

Ms. Rogers, who attended the ceremony in her capacity as the newly appointed Special Adviser to the President for Metahuman Affairs, was similarly pleased to see the SHRA repealed. Appearing for the first time as head of the newly reconstituted SHIELD, she was accompanied by the Black Widow, Dr. Reed Richards of the Fantastic Four, and by the new Captain America, whom she confirmed in the position after the end of the ceremony. 

“I’m grateful for this chance to serve the American public, whether superpowered or not,” Ms. Rogers said after President Obama presented her with one of the pens he used to sign the repeal legislation. “I make every effort to ensure that new training and deputizing standards for metahumans that serve both the public good and protect the superpowered minority are implemented as quickly as possible. Those of us who have extraordinary abilities have a duty to use them as wisely as possible, and only for the public good.”

Proponents of the SHRA were less sanguine. “The SHRA was intended to protect the public as a whole,” said Representative Dorinda Gantry (R-Zenith), a co-sponsor of the original bill. “It should have been fixed, not thrown out just because Captain America didn’t like it.” When reminded that Ms. Rogers had been gravely wounded and presumed dead for over a year as a direct result of her opposition to the SHRA, Rep. Gantry only shook her head and repeated that “the law should have been amended, not repealed” before excusing herself to attend a committee meeting on Capitol Hill....


	2. Chapter 1

  
__

__

MISSION REPORT - TOP SECRET

[Location and date redacted]  
TO : Lieutenant General Simon, Army Intelligence, Special Division, SHAEF

 

…penetrated the German air defenses with the assistance of Major Quimby and her Banshee Squadron flying strafing runs to draw enemy planes from our drop zone. We were met by Agent Wisdom and a local Resistance cell, who guided us through the forest to our target. 

Per the intelligence provided to us by Lt. Hornsby of the MFAA, we found a detachment of Johann Schmidt’s “Hydra Division” guarding the remains of Schloss Kronsberg near the [redacted] frontier. A quick visual reconnaissance showed that the castle had been repaired and converted for use as a maternity hospital and infant creche. This necessitated a change in plans to avoid civilian casualties, as most of those present were either expectant mothers, newborn babies, or medical and support personnel, not combat troops…

[explanation of new battle plans, redacted]

…Agent Wisdom had brought appropriate clothing for myself and Pvt. Barnes, so we were able to disguise ourselves as a nurse and an orderly and slip inside the main building during a shift change. Once in place, we split up, with Pvt. Barnes going to set the explosive charges at the guard stations and other perimeter points while I went to the former chapel. This proved to have been converted to an operating theater, seemingly for performing emergency surgical procedures should one of the mothers-to-be develop complications. 

There were also several refrigerators and shelving units stocked with equipment that was later identified as used in the artificial insemination process. Most notable was a large freezer unit containing vacuum flasks labeled with the initials of prominent members of Hydra, including half a dozen marked "HZ, "AZ," and "JS." Upon examination, these proved to semen samples, as confirmed by several handwritten books of genealogical records for senior members of Hydra, "breeding charts" tracing desirable characteristics through generations of Hydra's inner circle and a group of women described only as "suitable prospects," medical records and dossiers on these unfortunate ladies, and extensive notes on genetic characteristics and the inheritance of certain factors. This seemed to confirm rumors that Hydra has set up a counterpart to the SS "Lebensborn" program, with an eye to breeding a "superior human" in the most literal sense. 

The Hapsburg ampulla and the jar of anointing oil were in a locked cabinet, alongside a long strip of parchment painted with occult symbols. I retrieved the ampulla and the jar, substituted the replicas created by the MFAA, and reunited with Pvt. Barnes in the former stables (now a laundry facility). We changed into our battle dress, left our disguises in the wash, and made our way back to our rendezvous point. On the way, I personally destroyed the biological samples taken from the operating theater in the castle incinerator, along with the medical records of the "suitable prospects." The lab notes and ancestral histories of senior Hydra personal are attached to this report.

Once Pvt Barnes and I had rendezvoused with Agent Wisdom, I went to Battle Plan C while Pvt. Barnes detonated the explosives and led the Resistance fighters in an attack on the castle guards. The enemy surrendered in short order, and while Agent Wisdom and his force took charge of the civilian medical staff and their charges, Pvt. Barnes and I proceeded to [redacted]. There we were extracted by Sgt. Kawasaki of the Banshees, who escorted us to the Allied lines…

[signed]  
STEPHANIE G. ROGERS  
Captain, Special Division  
“Captain America” 

 

*******

It was a quiet night in New York, cool and calm and as clear as the city ever got. Steph breathed deep and let the air settle into her lungs. There was the merest hint of fall behind the usual smog, the promise of frost and falling leaves and - 

“Steph? You up there?”

She straightened up and took a moment to flip her braid back over her shoulder. “Bucky?”

“Who else?” Her cousin, in a worn Avengers sweatshirt and the slick black trousers he’d worn for the Rose Garden ceremony, climbed up the steps and handed her a brown glass bottle of Brooklyn’s Own Limited Edition IPA. “Here. You look like you could use this.”

Steph raised an eyebrow but accepted the beer. “You know this won’t even take the edge off? Alcohol as much effect on me as milk.”

“Like I didn't clean up after you drank a company of Night Witches under the table in '43.” Bucky flipped the top off his own bottle with his bionic thumb and took a swig. "Whether it gets you drunk or not, you gotta admit beer tastes better than milk.”

“No argument there.” Steph hesitated, then opened her own bottle and drank. The IPA was a warm weather beer, perfect for the steamy summer that was on its way out. “Where’s Nat?”

“Arguing with Sam about what they’re going to order for dinner. Guess neither of ‘em really felt like cooking tonight.” Bucky took another drink and leaned back against the railing. The light was dim enough that he could almost have been the boy she’d taken to war so many years ago. “Not that I blame them. From what I hear, most of the costumes are out whooping it up now that the SHRA’s done. It’s just like Repeal, only – “

“For a couple thousand people, not the whole country,” Steph finished. Just because she was still in her old uniform didn’t mean that the rest of the community had to be on duty tonight of all nights. “You know, I’m surprised you even remember Repeal. Wasn’t Uncle Jim still stationed at Fort Bragg in ’33?” 

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, for all the good it did. Half of Dad’s company managed to snag passes into Fayetteville, and Dad spent the whole night riding herd on his boys and bailing their sorry selves out of the drunk tank. Mom gave him hell when he showed up for breakfast stinkin' of booze but not even a bottle of dago red for her.“

He laughed at the memory, and Steph joined in. Her aunt’s love of strong homemade wine had been a family joke for years. “I can believe it.”

A barge slowly drifted down the East River toward Lower Manhattan as they finished their beers. Steph closed her eyes as the last swallow went down, the burn and the buzz fading almost before they could register. “So. How does it feel, being the official Captain America?”

“Better than it did last year,” said Bucky. He threw his head back and stared up at the starless sky. “I still think you should take it back.”

“Not happening, at least not yet. The country – hell, the whole world – needs stability more than I need to be Captain America.” Steph shook her head. So much had happened while she’d been trapped in time: Norman Osborn, HAMMER, the Dark Avengers, the near-disaster with Asgard, now Repeal - 

_\- Tony in a coma, her brilliant mind destroyed at her own hands to protect the community -_

“I read your mission reports, Buck. The shield’s in good hands.”

Bucky set his IPA down on the deck railing. His metal hand was all but invisible in the semi-dark. “I’m still not convinced, Steph. Captain America’s supposed to be a symbol of hope and ideals, not an ex-assassin blowing off people’s kneecaps. It’s why they didn’t train _you_ to cut throats during Basic.”

A soft wind blew in off the water, with only the faintest acrid tinge of the canal underlying the fresh, briny air. Steph made a dismissive noise. “Cutting throats wasn’t part of WAC training. Had to learn that on my own.”

“You know what I mean. You gave the speeches and led the charge while I was doing the dirty work. That's still there no matter what I wear or what I call myself.” The illusion of youth had vanished as he spoke. “You ever want the old girl back, she’s yours. If nothing else, you’d make all the baby feminists on Yamblr swoon.”

Steph made a face. “You read Yamblr? Seriously? I’m surprised Nat lets you near the place.”

“She’d care more if she wasn’t trying to keep Clint from blowing the place to hell. She’s pretty sure he has a couple of troll accounts.” Bucky quirked an eyebrow in Steph’s direction. “Me, I lurk. Much easier and I don’t have to worry about Nat reprogramming my arm while I’m asleep.”

_”Of course I replaced it, it was rusting in a couple of places thanks to Lukin being a cheap SOB who cared more about profits than upgrades.” Tony smugly flipped a wrench in the air and caught it behind her back. “I swear I did a better job when I fixed up Misty Knight how many years ago, and that time I was starting from scratch. Did you know your cousin was starting to get scoliosis from the shoulder plate pulling his whole spine out of whack? He owes me dinner at the very least, preferably with a movie or a show thrown in – “_

“Far be it from me to put you in fear of your own girlfriend,” said Steph. She pushed herself off the railing and tossed her beer bottle into the recycling bin. “We’d better get downstairs before Sam and Nat give up on us and order tofu gai pan from the organic glatt kosher place on 7th.”

“Tofu’s bad enough without it being kosher. How can anyone eat that?” Bucky shuddered. “I’ll nuke one of those chicken fajita MREs first.”

_Tony fished a chunk of something solid and white out of her hot and sour soup, curled her lip, and dropped it into her napkin. “Now. I know Chinese food has changed since your time, so consider this fair warning. Do not order the tofu. Ever.”_

_Steph scooped up a spoonful of her own portion, drank the broth, and cautiously tasted the offending substance. “This? What are you talking about? It’s awful bland, but I’ve had worse.”_

_“Aaaah! What are you talking about? Aren’t you supposed to be about all-American food, like burgers and fries?” Tony looked genuinely horrified. “Ribs and cornbread? Spaghetti and meatballs? Bagels and lox?”_

_“Chinatown was there when I was a kid, you know,” Steph said. She took another bite of whatever it was and deliberately held it in her mouth while it dissolved on her tongue. The flavors of broth and roast pork and bamboo shoots had permeated the curd just enough to make it interesting. “I didn’t go there much but I know the basics. What’s the next course? Egg fu yung? Chow mein?”_

_“Chow mein? Oh, honey, no one’s admitted to eating that in years.” Tony rolled her eyes, then laughed and gave Steph’s wrist a quick, hard squeeze. “Whole crispy sea bass, and just you wait – “_

“There are no MRE’s in this house, so don’t even think about - “

“Stephanie?” Natasha, in a striped tunic, black leggings, and sneakers with no socks, emerged from the door that led to the main living floor. “There’s a phone call for you on the kitchen phone. I think you should take it.”

Steph couldn’t help making a face. A call to her landline instead of her SHIELD communicator almost certainly meant it wasn’t urgent. “If it’s a reporter or blogger, send them to Hill or Johnson, then get someone in to reactivate the tracing software. I’m off duty until 0800 tomorrow and – “

“I think you should take this one,” said Natasha. Her brilliant hair was the only color visible, even to Steph’s enhanced senses. “It’s Pepper Potts.”

And this was why Aunt Winnie had always said that “almost” only counted in horseshoes. Steph ignored the sudden cold under her ribcage and brushed past Bucky, not gently, on her way to the stairs. “Pepper? Where is she? She's scarcely shown her face since Osborn’s first attack on Asgard.”

“She wouldn’t say.” Natasha, quick as ever, darted down the stairs a few steps ahead of Steph and whipped open the door to the service hall that led to the kitchen. “All I could get out of her was that she needed to talk to you right away.”

“Got it,” said Steph. She hurried after Natasha into the kitchen, deliberately ignoring Bucky clattering down the metal treads in her wake. She might need him later, but for now she needed to be the first to hear whatever Pepper had to say. “Sam?”

“ – went to get her, she’ll be right with you.” Sam, dark ‘rows pulled back from her strong, blunt features into a makeshift ponytail, was hunched over the kitchen island. What appeared to be takeout menus from half the restaurants in Red Hook, Gowanus, and Park Slope were strewn across the countertop. “Take a deep breath, nice and steady. Just like that, good.”

“Sam? What’s going on?”

She looked up at Steph, murmured something that sounded like _hang on, she’s right here, everything’s gonna be fine_ , and thrust the phone into Steph’s hand. She wore the “Double V – Fight with Cap!” t-shirt showing Izzy Bradley back to back with Steph that one of Izzy’s grandkids had designed to help defray her medical expenses. Steph had bought a dozen for gifts and another couple for herself, and had made a show of wearing them in public when she wasn’t on duty. The more money the Bradleys could get, the better.

_”Fancy duds, Cap.” Tony yawned and waved a monogrammed sterling silver butter knife in what was probably supposed to be Steph's direction. “I know it's for a good cause but come on. Even Mrs. Shabazz would agree that what you have on should have been put out of its misery and turned into dust rags long ago.”_

_“You’re a fine one to talk, Tony.” Steph pulled her sweaty t-shirt away from her torso, fanned herself with her own hand, and drained her first glass of orange juice. “’Ladies’ Sewing Circle and Terrorist Society?’ Since when have you ever so much as threaded a needle?”_

_“Not since I figured out that there were these wonderful people called ‘dressmakers’ who’d do it for you as long as you threw money at them.” Tony, laughing, gestured at the design on her own chest, which showed a beefy, crew-cut woman working on a patchwork quilt of Angela Davis, Malcolm X, and Che Guevera. “Not that the woman who posed for those ‘Knit a Sock for a Soldier’ posters would necessarily grasp this concept, mind.”_

_“Oh, I understand it just fine. You think I made my own costume during the war?” Steph snagged the last cinnamon roll from the groaning board Jarvis termed "a light breakfast buffet" and held it above Tony’s head despite a wail of No, my Preciousssss! and a half-hearted little jump that nearly knocked over the centerpiece. “Just because I like to knit doesn’t mean I don't buy athletic socks by the six-pack.”_

_Tony snapped her fingers in defeat as Steph took a bite of the pastry. “Another childhood illusion shattered. What’s next, admitting you didn’t actually have a Victory Garden? A tearful confession on Oprah that a stunt double jitterbugged with Clark Gable? Ripping off your shirt in public and saying you’re actually a big blond hunk named ‘Steve’ or – “_

_“Look, there's some fruit salad! Here, have a cherry, they’re pitted,” said Steph, grinned, and popped one right into Tony’s mouth before she could really get going -_

“Something bad,” Sam said, soft and low. “Let Pepper tell you.”

Something bad. 

Something she'd expected ever since Bucky, the stump of his left arm sealed with duct tape to prevent sparks from damaging the furniture, had talked her through the ugliness of the previous year. 

Something that never would have happened if they'd only talked, only connected, only remembered that they were friends above everything else. 

“Rogers,” she said into the receiver, the plastic still slightly warm from Sam’s grip. Her voice was as firm and strong as if she’d been laying out a tactical plan. “Pepper? Are you all right?”

“Steph?” Pepper – the voice was unmistakable, even breathy and exhausted and slightly higher pitched than normal – drew in a shuddering breath. Two voices, both male, were audible in the background. “I – I’m so sorry, I know you probably don’t want to talk to me right now but. But.”

“Don’t be silly.” Steph held up her hand for silence as Bucky, still arguing with Nat in Russian, banged into the room. “We’ve known each other way too long for kind of silliness. Are you all right?”

“Me?” The voices rose, one loud and getting louder, the other clipped and controlled and very, very angry. “I’m fine. It’s just - "

“Damn it, Stephen! This is ridiculous! She left us instructions, we need to – “

“And I say this requires work more subtle than any creation of science. What you propose – “

“What _she_ proposed!”

“ – cannot help but create further damage – “

“Is that Richards and Strange?” Steph made a fist, hissing slightly as her nails bit into her palm. “Where are you, and what is going on? Has Tony been moved? I thought she was in the hospital, not the Baxter Building.”

“Baxter Building?” A third voice, this one female and clearly furious, joined in the argument. “No, no, of course not. I’m – _we’re_ at Lenox Hill, I just got here a couple of hours ago. Stark Industries has been in freefall ever since Tony disappeared and I had to take care of that, and then we had to move Tony and - "

No wonder Sam had told her to take a deep breath. "Lenox Hill? I thought that private clinic - "

"They’ve got the best record treating metahumans so I thought it was what Tony would want, plus Jane Foster has admitting privileges.” The words all but tumbled over each other. "Jane wanted her in a real hospital now that it's safe. Before, with Osborn still running things - "

“I’ve had extensive experience treating members of our community, as you well know, and – “

“Reed, you are a physicist, not a physician.”

“And you’re a magician – “

“Who used to be a brain surgeon before I turned to the arts arcane, as you well – “

“She’s my patient, not yours, and what you're proposing, what _both_ of you are proposing, is – “

“Would you please keep it down? That includes you, Reed!" Pepper shouted, and Steph jerked back from the phone enough to keep from being temporarily deafened. “Five minutes and then you can yell all you want!”

Silence, and then Pepper was back on the line, sounding almost normal. Yelling at Mr. Fantastic clearly had been a good idea. “I’m sorry about that. Jane and I weren't expecting visitors to show up without warning.”

“Don’t apologize. I’ve known these clowns for years,” said Steph, not caring if either of the men could hear her. It was far too easy to imagine Reed sliding under a door, or Stephen appearing with a flash of light and a whiff of brimstone. “Sounds like you need a referee.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” said Pepper, and Steph closed her eyes at the hint of despair behind the quiet words. “Can you come over? Normally I wouldn’t bother you, but we have some decisions to make, and you’re Tony’s medical proxy.”

“Decisions?" The cold lump under her ribs was back. "I thought you were on her paperwork.” 

“I was, at least for a while. Not anymore.” Pepper paused. “Not since you came back.”

“Good God.“ Leave it to Tony to forget about little things like felonies, or civil wars, or death. “Does this mean she - ”

“She hasn’t moved or spoken or anything else since she lost consciousness. Jane's keeping her alive, but that's about it.” Pepper made a tiny sound that was the next thing to a whimper. “She’s dying, Cap. _Dying_.”

_”What were you thinking? Giving me artificial respiration like that?” Steph gripped the crutch hard enough that the metal let out an alarming creak as she heaved herself upright. “You don't have a healing factor, Tony. I do. You could have died!”_

_“I didn't have a choice.” Tony, pale and quiet in a black close-fitting jersey and equally black jeans, did not meet her eyes. “You'd stopped breathing, Steph. What was I supposed to do?”_

_“Black Panther was right behind you with the antidote. Risking your own life for me - “ Steph raked her hand through her hair. “You're the smartest, most generous woman I've ever met, Tony. The world can't afford to lose you.”_

_Tony's lips twisted into a parody of a smile. “There are plenty of other smart people out there, Cap. I'm not irreplaceable.”_

_“That's ridiculous, you most certainly are not - “_

_Tony held up one hand for silence. The nails were short, the fingertips callused, the backs and palms lightly scarred from years of working with fire and metal. “Stephanie. Geniuses are a dime a dozen in our crazy line of work. Reed, either of the Hanks, T'Challa, even Spidey if he ever gets his act together – there are plenty of people who could be Ironclad if I go down.”_

_“Tony, stop, that's not going to happen, you - “_

_“But there's only one Captain America.” Tony's eyes were very, very bright. “Only one, and I was damned if I was going to let her die on my watch - “_

“I'll be there in half an hour,” said Steph, and ended the call.


	3. Chapter 2

_From the memory banks of Antonia Edwina Stark [deleted]_

_What had she done?_

_Tony drew in a gasping breath, turned on the cold water tap, and shoved her head under the flow. The water felt like ice on her flushed skin._

_“Tony? Are you in there?”_

_“Go away, Danvers.” The last thing she wanted or needed was company. “Tell the President I’m indisposed.”_

_There was no answer for a few seconds, and then the bathroom door opened with a bang that cracked the ceramic tiles on the wall. “Tell him yourself, Director. What you did out there was – “_

_“Inexcusable?” Tony lifted her dripping head. The makeup Pepper had insisted on smearing on her face was a filthy stain on her cheeks. “Embarrassing? Conduct unbecoming a Cabinet-level officer?”_

_“Among other things,” Carol snapped. She had worn her Avengers uniform as a pallbearer but had reverted to her Class A’s for the solemn reception at the White House. It was possibly the first time Tony had ever seen her in a skirt. “I swear to God, Tony, if you’ve been drinking – “_

_“ Drinking?” Tony stared at her, then burst into a laugh that was about a micrometer from hysterics. “I wish. No, I’ve been stone cold sober for this whole disaster. I haven’t so much as used Listerine when I gargle, and if you don’t believe me, ask Jarvis, or Pepper, or anyone else.”_

_Carol slapped her hands onto her hips, probably in lieu of strangling Tony on the spot. “Then what the hell happened? You had one job today, Tony, one thing you were supposed to do, and you blew it. Pictures of you are on every news site in the world and are halfway to Xandar by now, if not beyond. If Sam hadn’t stepped up it would – “_

_“It would be what, Danvers? Worse?” Fresh tears burned Tony’s eyes. She clutched at the sink and doubled over, teeth bared as she fought for control. “I killed her. Captain America. I killed Stephanie Rogers. My best friend. Isn’t that bad enough? Can’t I – can’t – “_

_Her father had taught her not to cry, not to let her feelings show. “You'll be a woman in a man's world,” Howard had said. “No tears, Tony. Ever. You need to be twice as tough as the rest if you're to head Stark Industries instead of letting someone run it for you. Bleed in private, but in public? You have to be strong. Don't forget that for a moment.”_

_Howard's best friend had survived him._

_Howard's best friend had killed him._

_Howard could rot in hell._

_“My God. I – damn it, Tony. Damn it.” There was a rustling sound to the left, and a rush of water from the other sink. A coarse paper towel, warm and wet, was pressed to her face. “It wasn’t your fault. Steph went underground on her own. She knew the risks, knew someone might take a potshot at her. Hell, she wore her uniform to court that day to make a point and - ”_

_“That's not it, Carol.” Tony shook her head. The black pumps Pepper had insisted she wear were just high enough that she would have lost her balance without Carol’s free hand pressed to her lower back. “The coroner said she would have survived the gunshot wounds if she’d worn ordinary handcuffs, even the one to her belly. I knew she wouldn’t try to escape. Knew it. If I hadn’t insisted she wear the inhibitor cuffs she’d be alive right now.”_

_“You know the public wouldn’t have stood for anything less.”_

_“Like anyone would have known just from looking.” Tony peeled the wet towel from her skin and chucked it at the nearest trashcan. It missed. “God, Carol. If I’d just sat down and talked to her for five minutes – told her about Wideawake, her security clearance was high enough – “_

_“You really think Steph would have listened? The second anyone said ‘registration’ she went straight off the rails babbling about Nazis and Manzanar, never mind that it’s a different world today.” Carol’s own eyes were suspiciously bright. “She could have retired, you know, or tried to talk to Congress herself. The ACLU was ready to file an amicus brief supporting her. It wasn’t all black and white.”_

_“I know.” Tony blew her nose and smeared another paper towel across her face. Her blouse was soaked through to her underwear, and there were makeup stains on her cuffs. “And now we - I \- somehow have to put everything back together without her. God.”_

_There was a clatter of high heels in the hallway, then the door opened on a knot of female Congressional aides in funeral black. Carol, suddenly Ms. Marvel and not Colonel Danvers, stepped in front of Tony, one hand outstretched in a defensive position. “Sorry, girls. This bathroom’s off limits. Go use the men’s room if you’re desperate.”_

_“But – “ One started to speak, recognized Carol, and retreated, shooing her friends out into the hallway. “Sorry, ma’am!”_

_Carol lowered her arm, then stepped over to lock the bathroom door. “Somehow I didn’t think you needed that right now.”_

_“Give the big blonde lady a cigar,” said Tony. She ran a hand through her sopping hair. “I can’t go to the White House like this. Christ.”_

_“So don’t,” said Carol. There was a flash, and she was back in her military uniform. “I’ll talk to Hill and Pepper. They’ll figure out what to tell the President.”_

_“How about the truth for once?” Tony finally turned to face her fellow Avenger. “That I’m overcome with grief at the loss of Captain America? That she was my best friend and none of this – this garbage was worth it – “_

_She paused until the urge to cry again had passed. “I’m not half as good at my job, at anything really, without her there. What the hell am I going to do, Carol? What am I going to do?”_

_Carol rubbed her forehead, then pulled off her mask. Between exhaustion and grief she looked nearly as terrible as Tony felt. “I don’t know, Tony. I just don’t – “_

_[file ends]_

 

*****

The new Harley was a dream to drive: fast, powerful, and surprisingly nimble for its size. The seat and controls had been custom-fitted to Steph's specifications by John Coulson himself, there was a special compartment for her SHIELD-issue communicator to charge. and the engine was a hybrid that could run on gasoline, hydrogen cells, or electricity. She'd tested the speed and maneuverability on the LIE during a run out to Montauk two nights after Coulson's son Young Ray had delivered it, and it had been as close to perfect as any bike she'd ever owned.

It also had government plates, which had come in mighty handy when a cop trying to make his ticket quota had flagged her down for speeding on her way home to answer a Code Red summons from Maria Hill.

She'd nearly had to rely on what Bucky had promptly dubbed her get-out-of-jail-free card again tonight on her way to the hospital, but fortunately most New York cops recognized her by now, even in the indigo and silver of the SHIELD uniform she'd thrown on in place of the one she'd worn for so many years. One grizzled veteran had actually held the light from Pike to FDR Drive so she could take the turn without slowing down, then yelled, "Welcome home, Cap! We missed ya!" in an accent that was pure Brooklyn.

Fortunately there weren't many cars on the highway tonight, and it was only a few minutes before she'd reached the cross street that would take her to Lenox Hill. Her luck held when she pulled up at the Visitors' Entrance and two SHIELD agents she recognized from one of the old STRIKE teams hurried forward to meet her.

"Commander Rogers, ma'am," said the smaller of the agents, a slender Asian woman with silky black hair. She snapped off a quick but passable salute as Steph parked the Harley and unfastened her helmet. "Good to see you again."

"I could say the same, Agent Miyamoto." Steph returned the salute, handed over her keys, and nodded to the second agent. "Morgan? I thought you were assigned to Philadelphia."

"My wife works for the UN, ma'am," said Morgan. He was older than Miyamoto, with a liberal amount of gray in his hair and a waistline that was not quite as taut as she remembered. "I transferred just before the, uh - "

"Management change," Miyamoto interjected. "Same here, and a damn good thing, too. Your _predecessor_ didn't pay as much attention to the Coast as he might have, which worked out pretty well in the end."

"Glad to hear it," said Steph. The less time she had to spend cleaning up Norman Osborn's mess, the better. "I don’t know how long this will take, so check in on my secure line in forty-five minutes."

"Roger that, ma'am." Miyamoto had to lean almost too far forward over the gas tank to steer, but fortunately she seemed to be a good enough driver to compensate. Steph watched her head into the hospital garage, then turned to Morgan. "Shall we?"

"This way, Commander," he said, one hand on his sidearm as he preceded her into the revolving door. "Ms. Stark is in the Carbonell Memorial Pavilion on the third floor, full security measures in place. The Secret Service couldn't do a better job."

“Good to hear.” 

Neither spoke as they made their way through the lobby to the elevators, then down a corridor painted a bland institutional tan. Two more SHIELD agents, this time in full battle armor, stood on guard before a set of blast-proof doors that had been veneered and painted to look like normal wood, not adamantium-reinforced carbon steel. 

"Agent Morgan, Commander Rogers, good evening," said a third agent who had been standing at a small watch desk. Dark-skinned and bald, he moved with the eerie, deceptive grace of a skilled martial artist despite a charcoal wool business suit in a conservative cut, and an equally conservative tie. "I'm Agent Stephenson-El. If you'd take a moment to sign in?"

What sounded like angry shouting on the other side of the doors was audible to Steph, if no one else. She bit back the impulse to tell Stephenson-El that there wasn't time, that Tony Stark might be dying, and gave him her best official smile. She was their leader now, and that meant setting an example of something besides patriotism. "Of course. Procedures, I'm sure."

"We really haven't had a choice since the invasion," said Morgan. He stood unmoving, legs spread into a V, arms out to the side, as Stephenson-El carefully wanded him, scanned his retinal patterns, and verified his signature and DNA profile. "Skrulls, you know."

"Don't I," said Steph. She submitted to the same treatment except for the DNA sample, which was destroyed on the spot instead of bagged and placed into a locked containment unit for collection and off-site incineration. It was her own idea to prevent metahumans from being cloned or bred without their knowledge, and early reports were encouraging. "Do you have a report on Ms. Stark's condition?"

"I'm afraid not, Commander," said Stephenson-El, genuine regret coloring his words. "Her physicians haven't said a word to anyone except Ms. Potts and Assistant Directors Hill and Johnson."

"Understood." Steph waited as one of the guards punched in a code and opened the doors for her and Morgan. “See that I'm on the need to know list as her medical proxy, effective immediately. Ms. Potts should have the appropriate paperwork.”

“Yes, ma'am,” said Stephenson-El. He tapped a command into his communicator. “You'll have a copy of the full report by the time you're ready to leave.”

“Thank you,” said Steph. She let Morgan step past her to lead the way, even though the presence of yet more security guards further down the corridor made it clear which room was Tony's. Not all the casualties of the Civil War were celebrities, and they deserved their privacy.

The voices rose again as they neared the guarded room, one angry, the other calm but slightly too loud. A third voice, higher pitched and clearly female, tried and failed to shout them both down. Steph recognized all three, and why was it not a surprise that Reed and Stephen were acting like Jane Foster was not even in the same room, let alone the actual physician of record?

The door flew open before either of the guards could ask for identification, and Pepper Potts, hair uncombed, suit wrinkled, had all but thrown herself into Steph's arms. She was shaking from what was either grief or rage, and Steph quickly signaled to Morgan to give them a moment.

“I came as quick as I could,” she said as soon as Morgan had herded the security detail a discreet distance away. “What's going on?”

“Beyond me wanting to choke Reed with his own arms?” Pepper took a step backwards, and yes, she was more angry than upset. “They got here two hours ago and they haven't shut up since. Reed says one thing, Stephen says another, and neither will actually listen to a word Jane says, even though she's the one who's actually been _treating_ Tony since she deleted that damn list - “

“Sounds like you need a referee more than anything else.” The guards were speaking to Morgan in low, urgent voices, and if his reaction was any guide, Pepper was not the only one who wanted to use Mr. Fantastic's own powers to murder him. “Are you sure I'm the right one for the job? If there's a question of what to do - “

Pepper slid one foot out of a fashionable but less than supportive business pump, propped herself against the wall, and began rubbing the sole against the blandly soothing wallpaper. “Tony didn't want to delete her own brain. Not for a minute. She waited as long as she could because she was afraid that it would shut down everything, including her brain stem. The only reason she finally pulled the trigger was because Osborn didn't give her a choice.”

“I figured as much.” Steph shook her head, not surprised by either the madman or the genius. “Go on.”

“Like I said, the last thing Tony wanted was to delete her brain. You know how she is,” said Pepper. She sighed in relief, slipped off her remaining shoe, and repeated the process. “That's why she designed a failsafe in case Osborn pushed her to the limit.”

“A failsafe?” Steph's eyes widened in surprise. “You mean there's a way to bring her back? Why haven't you done it? Osborn's out of the picture, the SHRA is repealed - “

“None of which was final until today.” Pepper started to put on her shoes, winced, and kicked them aside with a few choice words about _female torture devices_. “I wanted to make absolutely certain that someone I could trust was in charge of SHIELD before I even opened the file Tony gave me.”

She laughed, soft and bitter. “Would you believe she put it on a Hello Kitty flash drive and called it 'smutty slashy porn'? I guess she tried to make it as girly as possible so Osborn wouldn't bother.”

More male voices from within, and when was the last time Reed had sounded angry enough to spit? “My God, she really must have been desperate. She can't stand Hello Kitty.”

“You have no idea,” said Pepper. She took a moment to collect her thoughts. “Regardless, it worked. Osborn didn't even look at the files, which is just as well since Tony had it rigged to short circuit if anyone tried to hack the password.”

“Which I assume you'd already memorized?”

“I was one of two. Maria Hill was the backup in case something happened to me.” Pepper glanced over her shoulder at the guards. Her shoulders were tight enough that Steph's twinged in sympathy. “Which almost happened. Osborn tried to confiscate the Rescue armor even though I'd registered it and had the paperwork to prove it.”

She fingered the end of her ponytail. “Anyway. Tony had given me the gist of her plan before she went on the run, so I already had an idea of what I'd need to do. I called Reed in to check over the math because most of the figures were Greek to me. I'm no dummy, but - “

“I would have done the same thing,” said Steph. “Maybe gone with Bruce or one of the Hanks, but Reed wasn't a bad choice.”

“Not according to Stephen Strange. He showed up right when Reed was starting to make a few phone calls - “

“Phone calls?”

“ - and started saying that the mystical portents were wrong, or something. I tried to tell him that we had everything under control but of course he wouldn't listen since he's in tune with the universe - “

_”Oh God, Cap. What are you thinking?” Tony threw up her hands at the sight of the video playing on the Mansion's flat screen TV. “'The Age of Aquarius'? Even if this thing weren't five million years old - “_

_“Oh, like me?” Steph said, shifting in place. The sectional sofa Tony had installed when the Avengers moved into the Stark family seat was so comfortable and soft and cushioned that it was hard to summon up the will to move._

_“ - it's about astrology, which is about one step up from ghost stories and ooga-booga and vampires - “_

_“Vampires are real, Tony,” Steph said, shaking her head and laughing softly. “Why do you think I wore neck armor whenever I had a mission in Eastern Europe?”_

_“ - and long leggedy beasties and other mythical – what did you say?” Tony stopped in full rant. “Vampires are real? Are you are shitting me.”_

_“Scout's Honor,” said Steph in her best “Captain America is a very, very serious person” tone, even though she'd never actually been a Girl Scout. She patted the cushion next to her. “Come sit down and I'll tell you all about the time Baron Blood tried to make me his 'eternal bride' - “_

“ - then Jane got a good look at Reed's notes and. Well.” Pepper gave up on her hair and let herself slump against the door frame. The shadows beneath her eyes were almost purple. “That's when I gave up and called you. I know I shouldn't have imposed, but even if you weren't still down as Tony's primary agent, you're the only one they'll listen to.”

“Dr. Richards. What you propose is perilous - “

“I've already told you, _Dr._ Strange, that _I_ didn't propose this, _Tony Stark_ did - “

“And I've already told both of you that she's my patient, not yours, and - “

Pepper visibly gathered her strength and shifted to the right to put on her shoes. Steph gestured at Agent Morgan. “Morgan? See to Ms. Potts. Make sure she gets a hot meal and a ride back to her apartment. I've got this.”

“Steph, you don't have to - “ Pepper nearly stumbled over her heels.

“Yes, I do. Agent Morgan, you have your orders,” said Steph, and threw open the door into Tony's room.

The three doctors were grouped in a semi-circle next to a standard diagnostic bed shielded by a bluish-gray cubicle curtain. Reed had elongated his torso and neck slightly to loom above Stephen, who was floating cross-legged, his cape swirling gently in whatever extradimensional air currents kept him aloft. Jane, hands on her hips, stood between the men and the bed, glaring first at the physicist, then at the sorcerer. None of them gave the slightest sign that they'd noticed Steph, even when the door smacked into the wall hard enough to dent the wall bumper.

“For the last time, Tony herself planned this. Meticulously. It will work, and - “

“It will kill her, or render her so damaged it would almost more merciful to let her die.”

“ - we need to honor her wishes - “

“For God's sake, would you just listen to - “

“All of you! _Cut it out!_ ” Steph rarely used her battlefield voice indoors, but if there was ever a time and place, this was it. She waited for Reed to revert his usual height and Stephen to put his feet on the ground before continuing.

“Now. Pepper called me up a few minutes ago and said there were some decisions that had to be made.” She looked from one to the other: Reed, jaw set and arms braced across his chest, Stephen stroking his mustache, eyes hooded and missing nothing, Jane with a clipboard in her arms, breath slightly labored. “So. What do I need to know, and what do we need to do?”

Reed's mouth started to open, followed by Stephen's an instant later. Steph clenched her fists and slowly set them on her hips. “One at a time. Reed? Pepper called you first. Go.”

“Perhaps it's better if you read Tony's proposal,” he said, arm snaking around the privacy curtain to retrieve a clipboard. His arm shrank to something approximating a normal size as he handed the clipboard over to Steph. “I've checked the math repeatedly and unless she badly misjudged the amount of current produced, it should work reasonably well.”

“Reasonably well?” Steph had never been much for math unless artillery trajectories were involved, but the neat little flow chart had clearly been designed with non-professionals in mind. She skimmed it once, then went back and reread it at a non-enhanced human's pace. “We're talking a human brain, Reed, not a portal into another universe.”

“That was my concern - “ Stephen paused in mid-sentence as Steph raised a finger for silence. “My apologies, Captain.”

“It's 'Commander' these days,” Steph murmured. She frowned at the second page. “You haven't spoken to Bucky about borrowing his shield. He was with me all day and I know he would have mentioned it.”

Reed hesitated. “I called him a few minutes before you arrived. He was less than happy with the idea.”

“Having Thor electrocute it to power up a hard drive wired to her cerebral cortex? I can't say as I blame him. Even for Tony this is a bit much.” Steph flipped the paperwork back into place and thrust the clipboard into Reed's hands. “I assume this is what you objected to, Dr. Foster?”

“To put it mildly,” said Jane after a slight pause. “We're talking Tony's _brain_. If she's allergic to vibranium – don't you dare smirk, Reed Richards, I've seen one or two cases – if Thor misjudges the amount of power involved and fries the data on the hard drive, if there's even a tiny miscalculation, then she could die on the spot. 

“And all that’s _if_ we can get Thor to leave Asgard long enough to help. Osborn was stopped before he could do any real damage to the citadel, but even so, they might not be able to spare Thor long enough to make sure this works.”

Her voice dropped, and she hugged herself as if something in her breast pained her. “I know Tony planned this. I know she’s a genius. But if she’s wrong? She’ll be a vegetable. I’m not willing to sign off on that, not if there’s an alternative.”

“Which is what I offer,” said Stephen Strange. He had the deepest voice of any of them, smooth and practiced and calm, and Steph wondered if at least part of his success as a surgeon had been due to his bedside manner,. “Antonia is a brilliant woman, but she is neither a physician nor an adept of the world unseen. Her method may work – “

One long finger tapped the clipboard and withdrew so quickly that only Steph could see the faint tremor that had ruined Dr. Strange’s first career. 

“ – but it will leave her crippled no matter what she does.” The jewel at his throat glowed slightly as he shook his head. “Her body and her mind may recover, but her soul will be irretrievably scarred.”

Reed’s jaw tightened. “You don’t know that. You _can’t_ \- “

“Reed.” Steph fixed him with her best “you are out of line, soldier” stare until his mouth shut. She wasn’t as pious as she’d been as a girl, but she was still Catholic enough that talk of souls from a magus made her slightly queasy. “What do you mean, Stephen?”

“Restoring her memories in such a harsh fashion will take its toll. She may not remember certain events, certain people or things.” Stephen took her hands in his own. She tensed at a warm tingle of – magic? Psionics? – that penetrated even the thick palms of her gloves. “Or, if she remembers, there may be no emotional resonance to the memory. The last few weeks, perhaps as much as a year or more of her life, will be as if they happened to a stranger.”

A monitor beeped from behind the cubicle curtain. Jane swore under her breath and whisked around it. A burly nurse who’d evidently been on watch swept in a moment later, some piece of medical apparatus in his hands. 

Steph stayed focused on the man before her, not the rustle and squeak and occasional muffled command from the bed. “No emotional resonance? Does that mean what I think it does?”

“It’s as I said.” Stephen released her hands enough that that tingle faded. “All that’s she seen, all that she’s experienced – all that she’s _learned_ in the recent past, for good or ill – all of it will mean as much or as little as a favorite film. Her mind will remember, but her heart? No.”

“That’s monstrous. _Monstrous_.” Steph took a step backwards. She’d read Tony’s notes, spoken to Hill and Johnson and Carol, watched as much footage of her own funeral as she could stand. Tony had never been stronger or braver, never more of a hero, than when she’d been facing down HAMMER and the Dark Avengers. How much of that had come from the Civil War and its aftermath? How much of it would vanish in a flash of lightning and a download?

_What were you thinking, Shellhead? You of all people should know better. - unless you did? And this is what you planned from the beginning?_

_Was it, Tony?_

_Was it?_

“I don’t care how carefully she designed this – this reboot. No.” Steph bit back rhe urge to curse. The privacy curtain stirred slightly as the room's HVAC system cycled on. “I’m sorry, Reed, but no. Absolutely not.”

“Maybe she – “

“I said no, Reed, and I meant it.” Steph made a slashing gesture in his direction. “Not unless it’s a choice between her life and her memories. No.”

He heaved a sigh, and it was not her imagination that he literally shrank back into himself. “I think you’re making a mistake, Stephanie. I really do.”

“If I’m wrong, we’ll find out soon enough.” 

There was no sound except Jane muttering something about leg cramps and arranging for physical therapy in the morning. “Dr. Strange?” Steph said at last. “You said there was an alternative. I’m waiting.”

Stephen snapped his fingers, and a long ribbon of parchment materialized with a flash and a faint sweet scent. Gilded and painted beasts, arcane symbols, and letters in a flowing, graceful, and completely illegible script snaked down from an illuminated “C” to what might have a signature at the end of the strip. “This scroll came to me years ago when my lady and I were briefly resident in Kronsberg, near the Latverian border. It speaks of an unguent that can heal all ills, restore fertility to the barren, bring health and new life to any who use it. If I can recreate this substance, I have no doubt I can bring Antonia back with far less harm than – “

“Kronsberg?” Steph took the parchment from his hands before she could think to ask whether it was safe for a non-adept to touch. The letters were easier to read now, the fantastic creatures all but dancing as she ran a fingertip down the brilliant black rows of script. “Krons – wait. I’ve seen this before.”

“The script?” said Stephen. He’d reverted to levitation the instant Steph had claimed the parchment. “I’m surprised. It’s usually not readable by non-adepts.”

“No, nothing like that. I mean the parchment.” Steph held it up to the overhead light, nodding as she recognized brush strokes and patterns she’d seen a lifetime ago. “You said you found this in Kronsberg? Did you mean the town or the old castle?”

“The castle, of course. An associate of ours bought it some years ago and converted it to a retreat and study center for the arts arcane.” Stephen floated close enough to peer over her shoulder. “It required much – cleansing, I believe would be the correct term, to remove the psychic imprint of the evil done there by the previous occupants. Our host had a small collection of artifacts that he'd salvaged, plus extensive records of what was beyond hope.”

“And he just gave you one?” Reed folded his arms over his chest, one eyebrow raised. “That sounds - “

“It was a thank you gift for favors rendered.” Stephen raised both eyebrows and waited for the other man to glance away. “Not all the evil influences had yielded to my friend's attempts. The darkness was strong, and even with his assistance my lady and I were hard pressed to root it out.”

There was a slightly warm tingle from the parchment, and one of the little grotesques in the margins seemed to expand slightly. Steph swallowed and handed it back to Stephen. “This scroll – did your friend find anything with it? Some sort of jar or bottle – what do they call it, a vessel to hold the oil.”

“Do you mean an ampulla? How did you know – “ 

“Yes, that's it. An ampulla.” Decades-old memories danced before her eyes: royal jewels, flashing gold, Jerry Quimby snapping out commands to her girls, Paul Wisdom clasping her hands and murmuring _good luck, my darling_ before heading out into the woods to clear the way to the extraction point. “What would it have looked like?”

“My friend found only the scroll, so we can only speculate.” Stephen, puzzled, unfurled the lower portion of the scroll to reveal a brilliant painting of a small, richly decorated golden object. “However, if this section of the scroll is to be believed, the unguent was indeed originally stored in such a vessel – this one, with the two spouts. My lady swore she could sense some hint of its essence in the cabinet where the scroll was found, but we found no signs of it in the Schloss. Our host told us that the building had sustained much damage during the war and many treasures were lost so he assumed that the ampulla was among them.“

“Not lost,” said Steph. Jane and the nurse were silhouettes against the allegedly vintage pattern of squares and circles of the privacy curtain. There was a murmur that sounded like _feeding tube_ , and she couldn't help a tiny shiver at what that meant. “If this is what I think it is, I know exactly what happened to it and where it is right now.”

“With all due respect, Commander, you are not an adept. If my lady could not trace it, how could you possibly – “

Steph smiled, thin and sharp and bright. “I know because I’m the one who took it from Schloss Kronsberg during the war. It's in the Kuntshistoriches Museum in Vienna, along with the rest of the Hapsburg coronation regalia.”


	4. Chapter 3

__

_

SO WE DON’T FORGET

_

__

_Philip Sheldon, special to the New York Daily Bugle_

_NORMANDY BEACHHEAD, June 10, 1944 -_

_It was twilight on the third day after the battle when I finally was allowed to land._

_The weather on D-Day had been less than ideal, with high winds and pelting rain early in the morning. The skies cleared enough for the landing itself, but no one was sure if the storms would sweep in again and force the Allies back out to sea before they could secure the beachhead long enough for the supporting troops and supply ships to land._

_That happened yesterday, which is why I was able to come ashore. The big transports arrived under a cloudy sky, barrage balloons floating overhead to protect them as they disgorged their cargo of tanks and Jeeps and all the other supplies the soldiers will need as they make their way inland toward Paris. The Germans may have been driven back into the French countryside, but they're not licked by any means, and everyone who survived the initial landing knows it._

_I'd made my way across the sand of Omaha Beach and scrambled up a fortified bluff to get a better view of the transports when I saw them. For a moment I thought I was dreaming – they're so familiar from the newsreels and the comic books it's easy to forget that they're actually flesh and blood – but then the taller figure moved, reaching up to brush a lock of wavy blonde hair behind one ear, and I knew they were real._

_I waved, and after a moment Captain America raised her head and nodded. She looked perfectly put together from a distance, just the way she does in the photos, but as I got closer I could see the rips and stains in the famous star-spangled uniform. She'd been on the front lines during the landing, her cousin Bucky at her side, and if the Germans thought she'd be a pushover because of her sex, they found out the hard way that Captain America is a lot more than a pretty face._

_Bucky had climbed up on the barrel of a German gun to get a better view of the landing, but he jumped down and took his place at Cap's side as I neared them. He's older than most people realize, about the age of the average GI, not that you'd know it from the Marvel Tone newsreels. He sported a big bruise on his forehead, right above his mask, but otherwise looked a lot better than Cap. She hadn't even bothered to freshen her lipstick, which she almost always does as soon as the fighting ends._

_“They need to remember who and what I am,” she said a few months ago when someone else asked her why the Mother of Democracy shops at Elizabeth Arden, and that was that._

_Cap was scribbling something into a notebook as I arrived. She closed it, smiled briefly, and held out her hand to shake. Then she asked me how I was, and whether I had any news from London. I caught her up on what's happening across the Channel, and we chatted for a few minutes before I finally got up the nerve to ask about the notebook._

_“It's not a notebook,” she said after a pause. “It's a sketchbook. Here - “_

_She flipped it open, and I couldn't help staring. There've been rumors for a while that she was an art student back in New York before she enlisted, but if what I saw is any guide, she was more than a student. The pages were filled with sketches of the things most people don't think about when they think about war: women working the machinery at defense plants, blacked out skyscrapers, shop windows with what little is for sale, taxis with bald, patched tires. Clearly she'd been paying attention during her last visit home._

_The most striking, though, were drawings of the aftermath of this, the greatest invasion in history. Bibles and cigarette cases floating on the tide, casualties sprawled waiting for a corpsman or a coffin, discarded rifles, ruined German pillboxes, boys who didn't look old enough to shave sitting hollow-eyed as they waited for orders – it was all there, drawn with quick, sure strokes by someone who’s much too familiar with the blood and pain and waste of war._

_My surprise must have showed on my face. She pursed her lips and snapped the sketchbook closed._

_“I do this after every battle, you know,” she said after a long moment. “If I don’t have the time, I make the time.”_

_“Why?” I asked. “The Signal Corps documents the battlefields.”_

_“They do a terrific job, don't get me wrong, but they can’t do this for me,” said Cap. She turned toward the beach and raised her hand to point at the transports. “This is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen. The greatest army in history, and we’re coming as liberators, not conquerors.”_

_A messenger rode past on a motorcycle, and I couldn’t help thinking of all the times Cap’s led the charge aiming one just like toward the German lines._

_“Some of us will make it through to the end of the war. Some of us won’t.” Her voice dropped, and for once I could see the woman inside the warrior. “Drawing what I see is a way to make sure I won’t forget everyone who’s paid the ultimate price.”_

_There wasn’t really much to say after that. I watched with them for a few more minutes, then started walking toward the next pillbox. A bunch of GI’s from the Blue Spaders were standing guard and catching a smoke, and I recognized a sergeant from Brooklyn I’d spoken to before the landing. He had a bandage around his arm but otherwise looked fine, and I wondered what he’d say about the battle._

_Halfway there I turned and looked back toward Cap and Bucky. He’d clambered back up onto the gun barrel and was talking with another GI, this one a kid who looked about the age Bucky's supposed to be. She’d gone back to her drawing, and while I watched she held out her arm, thumb up, to make sure she got the perspective right while she worked._

_I turned my back and kept on walking. If anyone deserved five minutes to herself, it was Captain America._

 

*****

“Commander Rogers?” 

Steph watched as a Porsche convertible swooped down from the cloudless sky. It was a bright, almost incandescent red, and for the barest of instants it could have been Ironclad heading for the rooftop motor pool.

“Yes?”

The convertible's operator was a slender Asian man with spiky hair the same black-brown as his tactical suit. He slowed enough on his approach that the car wobbled slightly at the loss of velocity before righting itself. 

“Agent Hill reported in. She's en route with the SHAPE liaison.” Daisy Johnson was one of Nick Fury's prize trainees and a powerful metahuman in her own right, but her voice was still that of a teenager. “ETA fifteen minutes.”

“Dr. Strange has been informed?” Another car spiraled down into an approach pattern, this one a sleek black Corvette. The driver was a woman with a lick of yellow hair so bright it was visible through the tinted windows.

“Affirmative,” said Johnson. There was a faint _click_ of shifting metal from her power dampening cuffs. “He’ll be here in approximately half an hour with his – associate – Lady Clea. I’ve already taken the liberty of reserving Examination Room #3 and informing its staff.”

Steph took a step back from the windows of her office. It was larger than she liked, with floor to ceiling windows of an allegedly blast-proof substance that probably wasn't, but it was one of the few available that she knew had been thoroughly swept for bugs, cameras, or other traces of HAMMER technology. “Good work, Johnson. Tell Agent Hill to meet us there when she arrives so we can start the prep work. The sooner this is over, the better for everyone concerned.”

“Understood, ma'am.” Johnson's face was nearly as young as her voice, at least until one noticed the set of her jaw and the slight narrowing of her eyes. "Should I inform Dr. Foster?”

_”Jane? Is it all right if I stay for a few minutes?”_

_Jane shut the door and stood for a moment, shoulders slumped, brow pressed to the sturdy oak. Reed had given up and gone home in what he would deny was a huff, but persuading Stephen Strange that he was in the way had taken considerably longer. Fortunately Clea had contacted him in some way that involved “etheric principles” instead of a telephone, and equally fortunately Stephen had decided he needed the exercise and would walk to the Sanctum Sanctorum instead of opening a door into the world unseen._

_“Consider yourself lucky, Cap. If anyone else asked, I'd tell them no,” Jane said at last. “Probably with a lot of screaming.”_

_“I don't blame you. I came close myself a couple of times when Richards and Strange started acting like silverback gorillas.” Steph's communicator buzzed at her hip, and she took a moment to text a reply to Agent Miyamoto's check-in message. “I promise I won't stay long. I just - “_

_She swiped at her part line, risked a glance over at the bed. “I haven't seen her for myself. Not since – before. If it's too much trouble, I can until after - “_

_“Of course not. Like I said, you're the exception.” Jane's face softened. “I do need to warn you, though. She's not in good shape. Coma patients seldom are.”_

_“I understand,” said Steph, and stepped behind the cubicle curtain -_

 

“Not until Dr. Strange has confirmed that we're on the right track. There's no sense in causing a fuss unless we're certain we know what we're doing.” Steph deliberately shortened her stride so Johnson wouldn't have to scurry to keep up. Had she even reached her adult height? “The main thing I know about magicians is that I'm not one. Let him run his tests and make sure this actually has a chance before we get anyone's hopes up.”

Johnson was very good at looking up without craning her neck. “Is that strictly necessary, ma'am? I've read the ampulla's dossier in our archives, including the paper files. Hydra certainly was convinced that the coronation oil was a heal-all. They were trying to synthesize it for their breeding program and - “

Steph slowed enough that Johnson overshot her and had to do a quick little spin to fall back into position. “I'm familiar with the records on that ampulla, Johnson. After all, I wrote most of them.”

Johnson's eyes widened slightly. “You – ma'am, my apologies.“

“It's all right. Most people forget I'm older than I look.” Steph worked her shoulders slightly, still not used to the absence of the shield's comforting weight. “Regardless. I read those Hydra files while writing the mission up for General Simon. Most of their research focused on human fertility, not curing disease or injury. Arnim Zola wasn't a well man, and note he didn't use it on himself.”

“I had wondered about that,” Johnson murmured. “It is probably prudent to wait for Dr. Strange to analyze it.”

“Exactly.” Steph nodded and went back to a normal pace. She hadn't bothered to reread her old mission reports – she'd written them, after all – but who knew what the Allies had done before the ampulla was returned to Austria in 1946?

A few people nodded as they made their way through hallways of what was now Steph’s responsibility. Most hurried past without a word, too focused on their duties to pay attention to yet another tall, strongly built person in a field uniform. One or two acknowledged Johnson but not Steph herself, which would have been amusing under normal circumstances.

At least no one shrieked, fainted, or dropped a biological specimen at the sight of a woman who had been presumed dead for over a year. 

_”Commander? Do you have a moment?”_

_Steph looked up from yet another pile of memos, directives, and printouts she'd inherited from predecessors going back as far as Nick Fury. She suppressed a yawn and wished, not for the first time, that Dr. Erskine had somehow managed to build an exception for caffeine into the “immune to poisons, drugs, and stimulants” component of the serum. “If it means I don't have to read yet another beef about the men's bathrooms down in Medical? I'm all ears.”_

_“You may not be once you've read this,” said Maria Hill. She handed over a single sheet of paper on Austrian government stationery. “Short answer: since Austria is not an official sponsor of SHIELD, EU member or no, they won't approve the loan of any of the Hapsburg regalia. That includes the ampulla and its contents.”_

_“Damn. I was hoping they wouldn't say that.” Steph read over the excessively polite missive from someone with a very long title and probably not nearly as much authority as she pretended. “I assume you also approached the museum directly?”_

_“Affirmative.” Hill stood at parade rest, shoulders tight, back painfully straight. Clearly she still remembered the day she'd tried to arrest Steph for not joining the Cape Killer squads, even though Steph had already told her that her previous allegiance was no longer relevant as long as she did her job. “Not only did they turn us down flat, the curator I spoke to told me that she wasn't about to 'surrender' – her word, not mine – an irreplaceable national treasure to a quote-unquote 'imposter put forward by the Americans in place of a true hero of the world.'”_

_“Imposter?” All traces of fatigue were gone in a rush of adrenaline and anger. “What?”_

_“She thinks you're a fake, Commander.” Hill actually looked apologetic even though she was merely relaying the news. “That thing in the Midnight Star about you being a carefully trained substitute must have appeared in the German edition, too.”_

_“Oh, for crying out - “_

_“I tried to tell her that your identity had been verified, but she wouldn't budge.”_

_Steph gripped her pen hard enough that the plastic barrel started to crack. She made a face and began twirling it between her fingers before it splintered. “What was the curator's name?”_

_“Her name? Elfriede Baumbach. She's in charge of the Secular Collection of the Schatzkammer, which includes the regalia.” Hill looked so uncomfortable that Steph's own shoulders twinged in sympathy. “I tried going over her head to the director of the museum, but she and her whole staff were unavailable. Or so the little gargoyle they had answering the phone claimed.”_

_“We'll see about that.” Steph gestured at a guest chair. “Sit down. This may take a few minutes.”_

_“Commander, I really - “_

_“I said sit down, and I meant it.” Steph gave up on the pen and chucked it into the recycling bin before the ink stained her fingertips. Her voice softened at the expression on the other woman's face. “I'm not angry at you, Maria. You've done nothing wrong.”_

_“Commander - “_

_“And stop calling me 'Commander' when we're alone. We've known each other too long for that,” said Steph. She waited for the other woman to lean back in her seat instead of perching on the very edge. “I normally wouldn’t do this, but it's time I played my ace in the hole.”_

_“Comm – Steph?” Hill exhaled, long and low. “Ace in the hole? What are you talking about?”_

_“Calling in a very old favor from the daughter of a very old friend.” Steph put her desk unit on hands-free and punched in a number. A woman answered in German on the second ring, and Steph held up a finger for silence._

_“ Guten tag. Könnte ich Frau Doktor Ingesleben sprechen? Sagen Sie ihr, Tante Steffi ruft aus Amerika an ... " _

“Labs,” said Johnson as they entered the express elevator. There was a faint chime of acknowledgment from whatever AI controlled internal travel, followed by the jerk of the car beginning its descent. “Dr. Strange requested the presence of an art conservator to ensure that the ampulla is handled correctly. I assigned Felix FitzGalen, the old head of the Artifact Conservation Department. I don’t know if you’re acquainted with him - ”

“FelixFitzGalen?” Steph watched the floor numbers descend, and descend, and descend. “It’s been a while but I remember him just fine. Likes the Mets, drinks hard lemonade instead of beer, played basketball in the intramural league a while back? Specialized in Renaissance and early Mannerist art history.“ 

“He plays basketball? He’s the biggest klutz – “ Johnson made a face, and it was all too clear she’d watched FitzGalen bang into the corner of a desk more than once. “Yes, that’s him. If you'd prefer someone else, though, I can call the Met.“

“That won't be necessary,” said Steph. The elevator opened onto a long, barren hallway. “I don't care if he can't sink a three-pointer as long as he can authenticate that ampulla.“

“Understood, ma'am.” 

_”Kronsberg?” Bucky stared at her over the remains of a plate of reheated penne primavera. Sam had left to feed her pigeons an hour before Steph had gotten home, but she'd insisted on leaving a portion of dinner for her friend. “That thing we stole from Hydra? That's the key to getting Tony back?'_

_“So Strange says.” Steph shoved her plate aside and washed down her last bite with a big, big gulp of wine. “Remember how it felt warm to the touch even though that chapel was cold as hell? That was the magic, at least according to the scroll.”_

_“Magic.” Bucky considered the nearly full bottle of sangiovese Nat claimed had simply been overlooked while the rest of the Avengers hid out in Steph's building. He reached for it with his left hand, wincing in apology as the scrape of metal on glass made an unpleasant high-pitched noise. “If it were anyone but Strange - “_

_“Or Clea, who confirmed Stephen’s translation of the scroll.”_

_“ – or Clea, I'd think it was nuts.” He poured himself a glass, drained it, and reached across the table for more. “Then again, who'd believe my life story if they didn't know better?”_

_Steph retrieved the bottle and corked it before Bucky could make his move. Natasha was in the shower and Steph had promised her the last glass. “There are times when I don't believe it, and I used to change your diapers.”_

_Bucky winced again, this time from embarrassment. “Jesus, Steph. Do you have to bring that up all the time?”_

_She glanced over at the untouched box of tiramisu on the counter, then back at her cousin. “Like you weren't the one who told Tony about the time I bleached my hair to look like Jean Harlow and it turned green in the municipal pool. I thought she was going to stop breathing, she laughed so damn - “_

_ Tony laughing till she was gasping and red-faced -  _

_ Tony frail and still and so so pale -  _

_“Steph?” Bucky's flesh hand closed over hers, warm and strong and secure. “You okay?”_

_Steph did not trust herself to look up. “God, Buck. What if this doesn't work? What if Reed's right and they have to bring in Thor and have him power up using my - your shield? What if she’s - damaged and – and - ”_

_“Like that’ll happen,” said Bucky. He squeezed hard enough that any other woman would have yelped in pain. “They'll have to get the old girl from me first, and you know I won't loan her out. Not unless there’s no other choice.”_

_“I know, I know. But - “ Steph breathed in on a four-count, held, breathed out. “What if neither brings her back? They could both be wrong, and then what I do? Just pull the plug? Watch her die in front of me?”_

_The faint rumble of the shower in the master suite ceased as Natasha turned the water off and began to sing something in Russian about a dear little beaver. Steph pulled one hand free and dabbed at her face with a paper napkin. Natasha was a friend, almost a sister, but there was some things only two people had ever been allowed to see, and Nat wasn’t one of them._

_“What'll you do?” Bucky gave her hand a last firm squeeze. His palm was surprisingly soft. “What you always do, Stephanie. The right thing - “_

The temperature on this level was noticeably lower than in the rest of the building, with a faintly moistness in the air. Johnson gave an involuntary shudder at the contrast. “Apologies for the cold, ma’am, but it’s programmed that way to keep the labs at the ideal temperature.”

“I was an artist before I joined the Army, Johnson. I understand.” Steph waited as Johnson underwent a quick retinal scan, then knocked on the door with a large numeral 3 painted on dead center. “Trust me, this is nothing compared to the salt caves around Altaussee.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am,” said Johnson. She stepped inside, exchanged a few words with a security guard in pristine white, and resumed her place at Steph’s right side once Steph was safely inside. “Dr. FitzGalen?”

“Agent Johnson?” FitzGalen's hair had gone completely white since the last time Steph had seen him, but he was as lean and gangly as ever. He broke into a smile and hurried forward, one hand outstretched in greeting. “Captain Rogers! Welcome! It’s been far too long.”

“It’s Commander now, and yes, it’s been too long.” Steph couldn’t help smiling back as he pumped her hand. “You look good, Agent. How are Miriam and the boys?”

“Couldn’t be better,” he said, all but glowing at the mention of his family. “You’re looking splendid yourself – I must say, dark blue really is your color, I can’t imagine why you ever wore anything else, it brings out your eyes and – “

Johnson opened her mouth to reprimand the older man. Steph laughed before she could get a word out and gave FitzGalen an affectionate pat on the arm. As long as FitzGalen did his job and obeyed her orders she had no problem with a harmless compliment. “You always did have a knack for saying the right thing, you old flatterer,” she said.

“That’s what Miriam always says.” FitzGalen signalled to an assistant, who held out a box of bright blue nitrile gloves. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to ask you and your intern – “

“Intern?” Johnson’s fingers flexed, and it was not Steph’s imagination that the room quivered slightly. “I’m a deputy director – “

“We can discuss rank later,” Steph interjected before Johnson could live up to her code name. “I assume we’ll need to suit up before the SHAPE liaison arrives?”

“Just gloves,” said FitzGalen, snapping on a pair with the ease of long practice. “My colleagues in Austria assure me that the artifact is free of biological contaminants so this is just protocol. We should be fine.”

“I was wondering about that.” The gloves were uncomfortably tight, and a bit short for Steph's fingers. “You’ve read the ampulla’s jacket?”

“Oh yes. Fascinating reading, especially the report from the MFAA.” The UV lights came on, giving the room and its occupants a faintly purple tinge. “Much more interesting than that ‘Spear of Destiny’ nonsense about the Holy Lance, at least to my mind. How anyone could believe Ravenscroft – “

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Commander, but Agent Hill just arrived.” Johnson made a face as her left glove ripped before she could get it even halfway over her inhibitor cuff. “She just cleared Security.”

“Good.” Steph glanced toward a long, low table covered in a pristine sheet of acid-free paper. A portable scanner, microscope, and several delicate instruments she couldn't identity waited on their own table to the side. “How long do you think your tests will take?”

“Oh, not long at all. Miss - “

“ _Agent_.”

“ - Johnson explained that time is short.” Fitzgalen's eyes gleamed behind a pair of glasses that had probably been quite fashionable when he'd bought them ten years earlier. “I'm very sorry about Director Stark. I thought she did a very good job, certainly better than Mr. Osborn.”

“I doubt you'll get much disagreement,” said Steph. “At least about Norman Osborn.“

There was a knock on the door, then hurrying footsteps. Steph turned to see Maria Hill, in civies instead of her uniform, crossing the room. Behind her was a slender, brown-haired man with a briefcase locked to his wrist. 

“Commander? Sorry you had to wait, there was a delay at Customs,” said Hill, panting slightly. “We got here as soon as we – Commander?”

 

_\- hot wet pain from her neck and chest, screams from the crowd, the world spinning as she slumped forward -_

_“Steph? My God, she's been shot!”_

_“Where the hell are the police?”_

_“What – Captain America's been - “_

_An arm around her shoulders -_

_“I've got you, love, hold on - “_

_Civilians screaming - “Pete – g-get them away, the people - “_

_A crack, then pain pain pain painpainpain -_

_“Help us, my God, she's bleeding out!”_

_“Pete – civilians - “_

_“Don't go – Steph, don't - “_

_“ - safe? - “_

_“Yes, they're safe, don't talk, it'll be all right - “_

_Gray and black, no color._

_“ - so – so handsome – love - “_

_Black._

 

“Pete?” Somehow her voice stayed level as she stared at the man who'd loved her, shot her, anchored her in time, brought her back and walked away. “Pete?”

His smile was as sweet and slightly crooked as ever, even if he couldn't quite meet her eyes. “Steph. You're looking well.”

She ignored the impulse to hug him, or possibly hit him. “What are you doing here? I thought you'd been recalled to Britain.”

“I was.” Pete shrugged slightly. “Didn't they tell you? I'm with NATO now.”

Steph risked a glance over at Hill, who had paled at her reaction. “NATO? Not MI-13?”

“NATO,” he repeated. “I've been seconded to their paranomal and metahuman division, at least until MI-13 decides what to do with me.”

“You mean - “

Pete held up the briefcase, the security cuff on his wrist gleaming slightly. “I'm the SHAPE liaison, Steph. I've brought you the Hapsburg ampulla.”


	5. Chapter 4

_From the memory banks of Antonia Edwina Stark [deleted]_

_…” – well? What do you think?”_

_Rhodey tapped thoughtfully at his lower lip as his eyes swept over the yellowed, slightly fragile paper for the second time. “Huh. I’d always thought this was just a rumor.”_

_“Rumor?” Tony jolted upright in her chair. “What? You mean you’d heard about this?”_

_“That the OSS nosed up some dirt about Captain America and some of her gal pals? Oh yeah.” Rhodey rubbed his chin, brows furrowed. “Where did you get this, Tones? Even for you this should have been off-limits.”_

_“Found it in one of Dad’s filing cabinets, down in the basement.” Tony retrieved the paper and carefully replaced it in a manila file folder gone soft with age. “I was looking for some of his work on the Manhattan Project a few weeks ago and found a whole row of files that hadn’t been digitized. I recognized the name on this one and started reading, and – well. I didn’t know what to do.”_

_“I don’t blame you. This is pretty explosive, even now.” Rhodey shook his head. “I’m amazed this Agent Paxton guy – “_

_“Tyler Paxton. He was another of Erskine’s test subjects for Project Rebirth, or so I heard,” said Tony. She pulled out a posed photograph of a group of weedy men in Army fatigues standing at stiff attention next to a sign that read “Camp Lehigh Class of '40.” An elderly two-star and a smiling, strapping brunette in a crisp new WAC uniform stood to one side, mirrored by a slightly built blonde and a thickly built, mustachioed man in a civilian suit._

_A random horsefly swooped past, and Extremis automatically added “have Jarvis check screens” to Tony’s online calendar. She handed Rhodey the photograph and tapped a dark, painfully thin man in the second row. “I think that's him. Steph kept in touch with him during her WAC training but then she went on active duty and that was it. She never mentioned him becoming a spy.”_

_“She probably didn’t know. The OSS was pretty hush-hush, even when it came to Army Intelligence,” said Rhodey. His gaze lingered on the two civilians before he sighed and passed the photo back to Tony. “Remember, Steph reported either to General Simon or directly to FDR himself. She wouldn’t have had much to do with Donovan and his boys.”_

_“Yeah, got it,” said Tony. She lightly ran a fingertip over the image of the fragile girl who would become the greatest hero of her time. “Still, spying on her at the same time she was saving the Allies' bacon every other week – that’s harsh. Really harsh.”_

_Rhodey waved the fly away from his drink. The library was quiet except for its faint, angry buzz as it headed toward the remains of Tony’s sandwich. “Maybe, maybe not. At least Paxton was her friend. Someone else, someone who didn’t know what Steph is really like – “_

_“You think they would have tossed her?” Tony dumped her plate into the trash, even though she usually loved crusts. “Captain America was the Army’s shining light, the Mother of Democracy. Kissing a girl or two – “_

_“ – was grounds for a blue ticket, which meant she would have been unemployable, super soldier or not,” Rhodey finished. “Tony. This would be bad today, even with a couple of out-and-proud costumes like Northstar. If nothing else, Steph would lose her commission in the Reserves, possibly her government security clearance, and you know that would damn near kill her whether she stayed with the Avengers or not._

_“Back then? It might have set back the whole war effort if word had gotten out that Steph had had an affair with another woman, even if Cynthia Glass had been a loyal American and not a Nazi spy. That stuff about her being the Mother of Democracy and the Sentinel of Liberty wasn’t just words. She was on the propaganda posters, the radio shows, in the newsreels and the comics. They had paper dolls of her, for God's sake! She had to be the perfect American woman or it would all fall apart.”_

_“The perfect straight American woman, you mean.” Tony flipped through the folder until she found a surveillance photo of Steph, tall and strong and beautiful, embracing the smiling WAC and giving her a less than platonic kiss. “No wonder she fell apart after Glass was shot. Finding out your lover is on the other side had to have hurt something fierce.”_

_She laid the glossy black and white face down on her blotter and picked up another picture, this one of Steph’s WAC training class posing in the quad at Prescott College. Steph had her arm flung around Cynthia Glass’s shoulders as both women flashed million-watt smiles at the camera. “I wonder how many people knew, or guessed? They weren’t exactly hiding anything, at least here.”_

_"Outside of her cousin? God only knows. Erskine might have guessed, but remember, Steph only got the serum after Tyler Paxton was injured during his last week of training. The rest of the men in the platoon had either been discharged or sent to other units until they knew the serum wouldn't kill whomever took it.” Rhodey studied the picture, blew out a breath. “One of my ROTC professors had been on Hap Arnold’s staff. That’s where I heard about this in the first place, when he was teaching a unit about women in combat and what anyone who wasn't Captain America had to go through after she disappeared._

_“Like I said, though, it was a rumor, nothing more. My prof thought it was bunk then and he sure didn’t believe it after Steph came back. It’s not like she’s ever dated a girl since they unfroze her, plus there was that chapter in Paul Wisdom's memoirs where he talks about their relationship.”_

_“True,” said Tony. She studied the picture of the WAC training class of 1941 for a long moment, then set it down. “She sure never pinged my gaydar, even when she was partnered with Sam Wilson, or even Diamondback."_

_“No kidding, never mind that Sam's about as straight as it gets,” Rhodey agreed. He gnawed at his lower lip, then shoved all the pictures back at Tony. “This still should stay buried,at least as long as ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’ is on the books. The way the country is right now you know some jackass’d call for Congressional hearings about whether Steph should be removed as Captain America.”_

_Tony made a rude noise. “Screw that. If Steph wants to date girls, let her. It’s the 21st century, for God’s sake, and if the Army tries to dump her I'll hit them a lawsuit so fast they'll think I repulsored the bastards.”_

_“You know I agree with you but a lot of people – “_

_There was a sudden flurry of footsteps in the hall, and Jarvis, pale and trembling and anything but composed, burst into the room. “Miss Tony, Colonel Rhodes – I’m so sorry to interrupt, but the most horrible thing has happened.”_

_Tony was on her feet fast enough to scatter the OSS file halfway to the windows. “What’s going on, Jarvis? Skrulls? Kree? I – “_

_Jarvis snatched up the remote for the seldom-used television set and turned it to the Ones. Images of an inferno in what had probably once been a pleasant little town filled the screen. “That new team, the one that just formed – “_

_Tony grabbed at Rhodey’s arm as the camera cut to a file photo of the New Warriors and the words “Fiery Tragedy – Superheroes to Blame?” scrolled across the bottom of the image. “Oh my God. No. No. That isn’t – that can’t – “_

_Jarvis made a sound that was almost wounded. “I’m afraid it is, Miss Tony. That’s what left of Stamford, Connecticut. Evidently young Speedball and his friends attempted to rescue a group of civilians and – “_

_[file ends]_

 

*****

“You have?” said Felix FitzGalen, and never had Steph been glad to have someone else pick up a conversation. “Oh, excellent! If you could just step over here, Mr. - what was your name again? Wisdom? What an unusual name! Let's just unlock that cuff and - “

“Steph. I'm sorry. I had no idea Wisdom was the courier until he stepped off the plane, and then there was no chance to call you privately.” Maria, still flushed and clearly uncomfortable, kept her voice low as FitzGalen and two assistants appropriated the briefcase and began extracting its contents. “I'll have him on the next plane back to Vienna.”

“Not your fault,” Steph managed. The last time she'd seen Pete had right after her return, during a clandestine “welcome home, Cap” party Bucky and Natasha had thrown at Steph's loft. Pete had been a shadow of his usual affectionate self, and after everyone else had gone it had taken nearly an hour of increasingly strained banter before he'd finally confessed to his part in the Red Skull's plot to steal Steph's body and destroy her mind for good. There had been tears, and words, and a very unsatisfying attempt at making love, and Steph was not surprised to find his side of the bed empty and cold the next morning.

That had been the last time she'd heard from him, excepting a single email two days later, from an MI-13 account, that had said almost nothing and promised even less. Steph had destroyed a heavy bag and burned out the motor on the treadmill in her gym working through her anger before Sam had told her to hit the showers before she ruined the rest of the equipment. She'd then thrown all the men out of the main living areas, invited Jessica Jones, Sue Storm, and a few other SHRA opponents over, and brought out the ice cream, alcohol, and several boxes of Kleenex.

The Kleenex hadn't been necessary and of course the alcohol didn't work, but the food and the company and the shared stories about love gone wrong had worked wonders. By the time the President had asked Steph to join his administration, she'd almost forgotten she even knew Pete Wisdom, let alone dated him.

“Well, what do we have here? Oh yes, this is a beauty!” FitzGalen exclaimed. He carefully placed a tooled leather case on the examination table and ran an admiring hand over the deep red-brown leather. “Heavily restored in the 19th century, of course – Commander? You're familiar with this piece, I believe. Do you know when it was last used?”

Steph hesitated, then joined the group clustered around the table. She made sure that Johnson was between Pete Wisdom and herself. “The coronation of Emperor Franz Josef, or so the Austrians told us, which means sometime in the 1830's or thereabouts. The case was probably repaired then.”

“That squares with what I see,” said Fitzgalen. He leaned close, a magnifying glass in one hand, and examined the clasp for what seemed like a good five minutes. “The lock itself seems to be missing, which is good since I wouldn't have the slightest idea of how to pick it.”

“I would,” Pete volunteered, smoothing his forelock back into place. The nicotine stains on his fingertips were far less yellow – had he actually managed to cut back on his cigarette habit? Was he trying to quit? “Good thing it's not necessary.”

“Yes, yes.” FitzGalen jerked his chin at one of his assistants, who exchanged the magnifying glass for a tiny probe with practiced ease, then watched as he carefully inserted the probe under the clasp and lifted it free of the lock. “Let's see what's inside the box, shall we?”

Steph folded her arms and watched as the old man nodded to the second assistant, who began snapping pictures with a digital camera as he eased the box open to reveal an interior padded with rich, dark red silks that were only slightly faded from age. There were several compartments, some long and thin, others round, one or two rectangular. Two worn deerskin bags protected a pair of small object in a central compartment, one round, the other irregular in shape.

“I thought we were getting everything that went with the ampulla,” said Johnson. One cuff clicked slightly as she hooked her fingers through her belt loops. “What's missing?”

“Oh, quite a bit,” said FitzGalen. “That's not a surprise, given the age of this artifact. Medieval coronation sets could be quite elaborate, with multiple scepters, orbs, swords, and so on. This one probably included at least one anointing spoon for administering the sacred chrism to the monarchs, plus a jar to hold the ointment or at least some of the components until it was needed.” 

“Medieval?” said Hill. “I thought you said this was from the 19th century.”

“That's just the carrying case,” said Steph. “The actual anointing set – the spoons, the jar, the ampulla – was supposedly made for King Rene of Anjou in the 14th century and passed down in his family. It came to the Holy Roman Empire when one of his descendants married Maria Theresa in the early 1700's and was incorporated into the Hapsburg crown jewels. It stayed there until Hitler annexed Austria and moved the entire shebang to Nuremberg.”

She pointed at the empty slots for spoons and jars and God only knew what else. “We were never one hundred percent sure how Johann Schmidt got his hands on the ampulla, or what he had in mind. It was something to do with the Hydra version of the Lebensborn program, which was supposed to produce a pure Aryan race, but Bucky and I didn't have time for a really thorough search at Schloss Kronsberg. There were rumors but - ”

“If I may?” Pete waited for her to give him a sharp, short nod. “Black Air found some additional records about Schloss Kronsberg after the war. Most of it was about trying to reconstruct their protocols after you stole - “

“Liberated. Hitler was the one who stole the Austrian crown jewels,” Steph corrected.

“ - _liberated_ the ampulla and the anointing oil,” Pete finished. He paused until it was clear that Steph was waiting for him to continue. “We also found a couple of letters from Schmidt to Heinrich Himmler, all in code. They were in Himmler's papers, not Schmidt's, so it's no wonder you never saw them, Steph.”

FitzGalen lifted out the larger of the two bags and positioned it on the clean white paper. His assistant took yet more pictures as he slowly untied the fragile drawstring and stretched the bag open.

“Letters? What did they say?” 

Pete shook his head. “Even if my medical German were up to scratch, which it isn't, your old friend Johann had terrible handwriting. Our techs think it was something about anointing one of Himmler's children as Hitler's successor - “

“What?” said Johnson, clearly shocked. “I thought Hitler was married!”

“For a couple of days, right before he and his wife died,” Steph murmured. What the hell were they were teaching in history classes these days? “Ask Jim Hammond to tell you about what happened to the Hitlers - he was there, I wasn't. 

“Either way, Hitler never fathered a child, either with Eva Braun or someone else. That meant he needed an heir, and the Himmlers had plenty of extra kids. Picking one of them made sense in a perverse way.”

“That it does, no question, and that's what most of Black Air think happened. But the letter might have said something else.” Pete stuck his hands in his pockets, scowling in the way that mean he was desperate for a nicotine fix. Maybe he'd simply washed his hands particularly well before the plane landed? “One paleographer thought he saw something about 'anointing the lady' but the ink was was so badly smeared it was impossible to tell. It probably doesn't matter at this point.”

“Probably not.” 

FitzGalen had gently extracted the ampulla from the leather bag, which was now being examined with a magnifying glass and a special measuring lens by one of his staff. The vessel itself was small, no more than four inches high, with a rounded base set with semiprecious stones and two small, elegantly curved spouts branching out at the top. One spout had a barely visible figure of a crowned king engraved along its length, while the second had an equally tiny queen. Someone – Johnson? Pete? - whistled as the conservator turned it over in his hands as he checked for identifying marks and damage to the sparkling red and blue cabochons set in a five-pointed star pattern on the golden surface. 

Hill finally broke the silence. “It's beautiful.”

“Yes,” Steph said. Even sitting untended in plain wooden cabinet, the ampulla had been gorgeous. Seeing it now, clean and cared for, was like seeing _The Mona Lisa_ for the first time. “Yes, it is.” 

“Is that writing on the spouts?” Hill said after another pause. “What does it say?”

“Good catch, Agent Hill.” Fitzgalen reverently set the ampulla down on the table. He tapped the body of the ampulla with one of his tiny probes. “There are quotes from the Bible, both in Latin. Acts 2:17 and Genesis 22:17, if I'm not mistaken.”

He waited until the assistant with the camera had photographed the ampulla from as many angles as possible to continue. “The first one, the one on the male spout, says, 'Iuvenes vestri visiones videbunt et seniores vestri somnia somniabunt' - “Your young men shall have visions, and your old men will dream dreams.' The other quotation, on the female spout, says 'Benedicam tibi et multiplicabo semen tuum sicut stellas caeli' - 'I will bless you, and your descendants will be as numerous as the stars in the sky.'”

Hill locked her hands behind her back and leaned forward until her nose was almost touching one of the little spouts. “Why two verses? And why those? Neither seems particularly royal to me.”

“It's quite simple, actually. Our little ampulla probably had a twofold purpose – two spouts, you know, one for men, the other for women.” FitzGalen pointed at the delicate protrusions. “The special ointment would have been heated until it was liquid, probably in one of the vessels that's been lost, then poured into the ampulla through that little hole – see the plug there between the spouts? It would have been kept warm throughout the coronation or baptismal ritual until it was needed, then poured on whomever was being anointed.

“Males would have received the oil from the spout marked with a wish for vision and clarity since they would have been the rulers, while the spout wishing for fertility would have been reserved for the royal women. Sexist of them, I'm afraid, but the Hapsburg royal line descended exclusively through the men.”

“'Anointing the lady,'” Steph quoted softly. “No wonder Schmidt wanted to use it for his broodmares. Those poor women – some of them were barely more than girls.”

Pete, frowning, leaned forward to get a better look. The stones in the center of the star reflected red in his eyes for the briefest of moments. “That's – appalling.”

There was no answer for that, at least nothing repeatable in polite company. Steph folded her arms and watched as FitzGalen carefully set the ampulla aside and turned his attention to the ointment that might or might not be magic. 

The jar was tiny, smaller than one of the little pots of cold cream Steph had carried in her field kit. The lid was enameled with yet another royal couple, this time nude and locked in an embrace that would have been erotic if the artisan had known anything about human anatomy. A golden aureole shone about the king's brow, while the queen's belly was noticeably swollen. 

_Visions. Fertility. Good government and a healthy child._

“Did you ever open this, Commander?” said FitzGalen. “The ointment, that is.”

“No,” said Steph, leaning forward for a better look. “I just wrapped it in one of my handkerchiefs and shoved it in a belt pouch. I barely even looked at it.” 

“So you don't know how much of the ointment was left?” FitzGalen looked disappointed when Steph shook her head. “Pity, it would have been useful to get some sort of baseline level.”

“That wasn't my job.” Steph straightened and leaned away from the table so her shadow wouldn't obscure his view. “I'm no scientist, Felix. You know that.”

“Of course, of course.” He carefully removed the lid and placed it on a small small plate that one of his assistants had produced without being asked. A thick, yellowish substance the consistency of Vaseline gleamed in the overhead lights. “It was merely a question – ah, good. There seems to be more than enough for me to take a quick sample for analysis before we turn it over to Dr. Strange.”

“Is that necessary?” said Johnson, wrinkling her nose at the slightly rancid scent floating upwards. “It's not as if anyone's actually _used_ this stuff since the war.”

FitzGalen tsked gently as he scooped a pea-sized lump of ointment onto a sterile tongue depressor and scraped it onto a slide. “Isabel? If you'd do the honors?”

“Of course, Dr. FitzGalen,” said one of the assistants. She fitted the slide into a complicated bit of machinery, pressed a button, and watched as the slide slowly disappeared into the bowels of the equipment. “The ampulla and the ointment have been in the Schatzkammer since 1946, so this is just a precaution in case someone cleaned it a little too thoroughly. It won't take long.”

“Good,” said Steph. “The sooner it's in Strange's hands, the better. Tony – Ms. Stark – isn't doing well.”

_\- taut muscle wasted almost to nothing, glowing olive skin faded to a sickly pallor - hands soft and weak and so, so cold when Steph took them in her own, clasping them tight as if her own flesh could restore warmth and life -_

_“Tony. Please don't do this. Don't.” Steph ducked her head, eyes stinging as she fought back tears. Jane had left them alone, supposedly to check on something at the nurses' station, and the reality of what had happened, what was happening, was suddenly more than Steph could bear. “Hold on – help is coming, I swear - “_

_She sucked in a shuddering breath. “I can't do this without you, Tony. I can't. Cleaning up the mess – even I can't do it alone. I need you if this is going to work, don't you dare leave me, please I can't - “_

A hand closed on her upper arm, and she turned to see Pete, solemn and quiet and simply _there_. She managed a tiny smile of thanks before stepping backwards to free herself. Hill might understand the gesture, but Johnson hadn't known her long enough to know that it was simple comfort, nothing more.

Steph's hip brushed against the table, and before she could react the ampulla had tipped over to lie on its side. “Sorry, I didn't know I was that close.”

“No, no, it's fine, no harm done,” said FitzGalen. He picked up the ampulla and held it up so Steph could get a closer look. “It's in much better condition than the Austrians had led me to believe – see that row of spinels? The conservation reports said they were loose in their settings, but it certainly looks as if the museum tightened them a bit.” 

“I can see that,” said Steph. The little red gems glinted in the light, polished and perfect and all in a nice straight line on the smooth, unscarred metal. “If I didn't know better I'd think it was the fake Bucky and I left for Schmidt and his boys. They must have buffed out all the scratches at some point.”

FitzGalen frowned. “I'd be shocked if they did. That's completely against the usual protocol for conserving an artifact. Are you certain?”

“I - “

“Dr. FitzGalen?” There was a loud _beep_ from the analysis equipment, and a flash of bright orange from an indicator light. “Could you come here for a moment? This can't be right.”

“What can't be right? Isabel - “

Isabel's voice had gone from deferential to undeniable. “Doctor. You need to see this. Now.”

“What the – oh dear. Oh _dear_ ,“ said FitzGalen, and before Steph could so much as protest he'd tucked the ampulla into her hands and hurried to join Isabel at the machine. “You checked the calibration?”

“You saw me do it yourself,” came the terse reply. “Here – that's wrong, and that, and the original had rosemary, not camphor, and - “

Steph stared at the golden vessel in her hand. It was surprisingly heavy for its size, and cool enough that she could feel it even through the surgical glove. 

_\- a warm tingle of something that might or might not be magic -_

“Steph? What are you doing?” said Pete. He grabbed at her hand as she peeled off the glove from her right hand and let her bare skin touch the ampulla for the first time. “That's – it's an artifact, you shouldn't - “

“Isabel? You're absolutely certain?”

“As certain as I can be.”

“Why not?” said Steph. Her hand closed over the little bottle, and if she hadn't been so used to holding back it would have been nothing more than a lump of gold and semiprecious stones. “It's not as if it's the original.”

“ _What?_ ” exclaimed Daisy Johnson. Maria Hill gasped, suddenly white to the lips, and turned away. “That can't be!”

“Oh yes it can.” Steph set the beautiful, useless ampulla down on the examination table even as Felix FitzGalen threw up his hands and told Isabel to run another test that would tell them nothing they didn't already know. “This isn't the Hapsburg ampulla. It's the fake the Monuments Men had me leave in Schloss Kronsberg. So's the ointment.”

“Bloody hell,” said Pete. His fingertips glowed for a second before he got himself under control. “Someone must have gotten to the Austrians first. Now what?”

“I don't know,” said Steph. She gazed past her old love at the fake she hadn't seen in sixty years. “I don't know.”


	6. Chapter 5

_Excerpt from Chapter 8, “The Tunisian Campaign,” of Crusade in Europe_ by Dwight D. Eisenhower.

…By the evening of the twenty-first it was apparent that the enemy had stretched himself to the limit and his supply was becoming difficult. More than this, his line of communications ran through the vulnerable Kasserine Gap and his troops to the west of that point were becoming precariously exposed to attack by any forces we would bring up. 

The enemy’s advance, by the twenty-second, was completely stalled. George Patton, who always liked to bring up historical precedent, remarked, “Well, Von Arnim should have read about Lee’s attack at Fort Stedman.” There, outside St. Petersburg, the last desperate Confederate counterattack was stopped and driven back in bloody retreat by strong Union reserves. 

General Patton then continued, “He should have read Herodotus, too. Cyrus the Great thought he could beat a woman and look what happened to him.” Queen Tomyris of the Massagetae had avenged the death of her son by defeating the Persian conqueror in single combat, then cut off his head as a mark of her victory. 

Captain Stephanie Rogers, known at that time as “Miss America” or “America’s Fighting Sweetheart,” was nowhere near as bloodthirsty as her ancient counterpart but it cannot be denied that she played a crucial role in beating back the German advance at Kasserine Gap. A graduate of the Women’s Army Corps training program at Prescott College in Massachusetts, Captain Rogers had volunteered for a program that enhanced her physical abilities to a great degree. Her previous service had been devoted primarily to exposing enemy agents and saboteurs on the Eastern Seaboard, as well as serve as the inspiration for a number of propaganda films intended to raise civilian morale. She had been assigned to Operation Torch in the guise of an Army nurse and given orders to root out foreign agents in the Allied landing force.

Captain Rogers had been assisting the wounded during the fighting at Kasserine Gap when she realized that the Germans had positioned themselves to overrun Colonel Stark’s position. She relieved Colonel Stark when he was wounded by shrapnel, and led his force to a defensible position on higher ground. From there, she coordinated a counterattack on the Germans that spread to the rest of our forces and drove the enemy back to his original position. It culminated with Captain Rogers charging ahead, alone and armed only with a machine gun and her famous shield, straight at the German lines. By the time our soldiers had fought their way to her position, she had smashed through the German defenses by herself and was, as one of the awed GI’s put it, “halfway to Cairo” despite heavy small arms and artillery fire. Captain Rogers emerged from the battle unscathed, and battlefield reports confirm that the story of her refusing to rest until the wounded had been evacuated is but little exaggerated. 

I should pause here to say a few words about Captain Rogers’ subsequent career. The story that she was threatened with court martial for disobeying Army regulations about women on the battlefield is the creation of an imaginative war correspondent who was not even present at the Kasserine Gap. Her courage and gallantry under fire was in accordance with the finest tradition of the United States Army and there was never any talk of disciplining her for responding at a critical moment. 

It is also not true that she acquired the nickname “Captain America” in response to a superior officer’s dismissal of her as “Little Miss America playing soldier girl.” I had been extensively briefed as to Captain Rogers’s capabilities and talents before she arrived in North Africa and fully supported her request to change her code name to “Captain America” after the battle at Kasserine Gap. She believed that incorporating her actual military rank into her public identity would send a message to both the home front and the enemy that American women were fully equal to American men and similarly committed to restoring liberty to occupied Europe. I agreed, and sent a directive to all Allied forces stating unequivocally that she be given the same rights and privileges of any fighting man. 

This was a heavy burden for one woman to bear, but as became clear in subsequent months, Captain Rogers more than justified my faith in her. Few soldiers in the history of warfare have accomplished as much or set such a sterling example. I am confident in stating that without Captain America’s work, both by herself and alongside the agents known as the Invaders, the war in Europe would have taken longer and resulted in far more casualties on both sides….

*****

Petroleum jelly.

Steph threw the folder down on her desk with a muffled _smack_ as it hit yet another pile of paperwork. The so-called ointment was nothing more than garden variety petroleum jelly mixed with a few scenting agents to make it pass for an herbal ointment gone bad from age. Unless one believed in aromatherapy, which Steph didn't, it was about as useful as an old batch of Rosebud Salve, and much less pleasant. 

The vessels themselves weren't quite as blatantly modern – Corporal Hellbrunn had been a master jeweler catering to the aristocracy before he'd fled for his life in '35, so he knew how to make the new look old – but Felix FitzGalen had wanted to be absolutely certain before writing his own report on the ampulla and the jar,. Even so, it was all but certain that unless a disgruntled curator in Vienna had scraped out the original ointment for reasons unknown and spooned in a couple ounces of doctored Vaseline, the Schatzkammer had sent them a pair of sixty year old fakes made to fool the Red Skull, not the actual artifacts. 

Worse, the originals themselves seemed to have vanished at some point without anyone noticing.

The Director of the Kunsthistoriches had been stunned when Steph had called her personally with the bad news; she'd been a child when the Invaders had gotten her and her family out of Salzburg just before a Hydra patrol had come for her father, and she'd been so awed by Steph that she'd named her own son “Stefan” in her honor. Having her idol tell her that one of the items entrusted to her keeping had gone missing must have cut to quick.

“It is bad enough that my country has been robbed of its patrimony. To fail you at this time, when you have done so much for me and my family, wounds me in the heart,” she'd said over the hololink, her voice trembling with anger and regret. “You have my word of honor that we will not rest until we learn what has happened and have reclaimed the ampulla and the ointment. Your friend deserves our very best efforts.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Steph had said, doing her best to keep her own anger at bay as she'd cut the connection. Later, when they'd found the ointment and Strange had brought Tony back, she might offer SHIELD's services to upgrade the Schatzkammer's security protocols to prevent something like this from happening again.

Right now, though - 

“God damn it to _hell_ ,.” She shoved her chair back from the big, modern, bland desk she'd inherited from some mid-level functionary and spun it about to face the blazing lights of Manhattan. The only light in the room was from an equally big, modern, and bland desk lamp the said mid-level functionary had picked up at a discount store out on the Island, and it was both too bright and nowhere bright enough. “Letting something like that get away from them - ”

“I couldn't agree with you more,” said Pete Wisdom. He stood just inside the door, trench coat loosely draped across his shoulders. One hand was tucked behind his back while the other rested lightly on the wooden frame. 

Steph automatically swiveled back to face the entrance. “Pete? It's – my God, it's after ten. What are you doing here? I thought you'd gone back to your hotel.”

“Been there, done that, as the young people say.” His only concession to the hour was a black wool turtleneck and sleekly fitted jeans instead of his usual semi-bespoke suit and rep tie. “I tried watching the telly but the only thing worth my while was an episode of _Keeping Up Appearances_ I've seen half a dozen times.”

“Old sitcoms? I didn't know you liked that sort of thing,” Steph said. She leaned back in her chair, stretching her shoulders to work out the beginnings of an unpleasant kink. 

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a wry little grin. “Brian and Meggan are addicted to the bloody things, if you can believe that. He threatened to come as Onslow for Halloween one year, tattered vest, fake paunch, and all.”

Steph had to laugh. Brian Braddock was fit even for a superhero, with a waist nearly as narrow as Steph's own. “I want pictures if he does.”

“You can count on it.” The hand behind his back snaked out to produce a brown paper carryout bag. “I thought you might be hungry so I picked something up for a late supper. Stay where you are, I'll take care of everything.”

There was a small, somewhat grimy conference table by one of the huge windows that overlooked the teeming streets of the great city below. Steph loosened her braid and watched as Pete shed his coat, whisked a hideous fuchsia paper tablecloth over the battered surface, and laid out a series of covered dishes and paper cartons. “You shouldn't have bothered, Pete. I had dinner a few hours ago.”

“At the SHIELD commissary if I know you, or here at your desk,” said Pete with a less than approving glance at the sandwich wrappings in the trash. “I thought you deserved something a bit more substantial after the day you've had. Anything I should know?”

“Officially? Only what was in the cable I sent to your higher-ups at SHAPE. SHIELD is deeply concerned over the possible theft of such a precious artifact and stands ready to offer any and all assistance, etc., etc.” Steph shook her hair back over her shoulders, sighing at how good it felt. Short hair might be practical under a cowl or a mask, but it wasn't as if Commander Rogers wore either. “Unofficially? I've taken some steps that may or may not become public depending on how things shake out. I don't expect to hear anything for a couple of days but you never know.”

Pete nodded. He uncovered the dishes and held his hands an inch or so above each portion, the fingertips glowing slightly as he warmed the food to serving temperature. Whatever he'd brought smelled wonderful. “Let me guess. Barnes and Romanoff are in Eastern Europe, Union Jack is on-call in case you need some extra muscle, Jackie Falsworth's working the cocktail circuit in London, and you're waiting to hear from Logan's contacts in Madripoor to see if the anointing set was offered for sale anywhere in Asia. 

“Then there are all the non-powered agents you activated, plus the calls you made to Interpol and the CIA and - “

“I can neither confirm nor deny any of your speculations.” Steph pushed back from the desk and stood. “Jackie Falsworth did ask me to say hello for her, though.”

“Thought so.” Peter produced a clean white napkin from the bottom of the paper bag, draped it over his arm, and pulled out a chair with a near-courtly bow. “Madam Director? Dinner is served.”

“I can see that.” Her mouth watered as she identified at least one of the dishes. “White asparagus? At this time of the year?”

His smile this time was almost shy. Was this an attempt at an apology for leaving without so much as a kiss or a word? “I can neither confirm nor deny groveling to several people who wish to remain anonymous to find someone who could and would cook your favorite vegetable even though it's out of season.”

“I see.” Steph lowered herself into the chair and held still as he eased it up to the table, then carefully tucked another napkin over her lap. “The same applies to the oysters, I assume.”

“Only the best for America's top cop.” Only someone who knew him intimately would have detected the slight tremor in his hands as he poured a glass of her favorite Spanish white. “She's the hope of the world, but she really does need to remember to eat a good meal once in a while.”

“This is considerably more than a good meal, Pete.” Steph waited for him to take his own seat and pour his own wine before taking her first bite of Oysters Rockefeller. It was delicious, perfectly seasoned and prepared, and she couldn't contain a little sound of pleasure. “If I didn't know better, I'd swear this was from Rusterman's.”

The building shook slightly as a helicopter took off from the roof. Its running lights cast a quick flash of red across the perfect meal and the man who'd brought it. 

“Even groveling wouldn't bring that one back.” Pete tasted his own asparagus and nodded in approval. “Fortunately their old fish chef has his own catering business and was willing to go the extra mile when I mentioned a few names. He left me his card, by the way, and said he'd be happy to cater SHIELD's next holiday party at cost.”

_”Steph? You up for - “ Tony, in jeans, a t-shirt, and a denim jacket so worn she might have had it in college, stopped in mid-sentence. “Is something wrong?”_

_“Yes. No.” Steph tossed the Food section of the Times in Tony's general direction. “It's silly.”_

_Tony caught the newspaper before it could flutter into its component pages. Her hair was shorter than usual, almost mannish, and spiked in a vaguely punk cut. “You care about organic goat cheese from Dutchess County? Since when?”_

_“Goat cheese? What?” Steph gestured vaguely in Tony's direction. “No, no. Look below the fold.”_

_“A star chef is getting – wait. You mean Rusterman's?” Tony wrinkled her nose as she read the article/obituary. “They lost their lease and have to close? Wow. That's unexpected. They've been around since my parents were dating, right?”_

_“Longer.” Steph forced down the memory of another lively dark-haired woman in a very different New York. “You know, Cindy Glass and I went there there after we got our commissions. We were stuck in the city waiting for orders and I wanted to go someplace fancy for once. She had a little extra so - “_

_“Cindy Glass? Oh man.” Tony folded the paper with unusual care and set it down on the coffee table. “I didn't know you'd ever eaten there, let alone with a good friend.”_

_Steph blinked. Even now, having to hide her relationship with Cindy hurt nearly as much as Cindy's betrayal. “Not often. They were awfully pricy, but the food was something special. That's why I suggested it in the first place. Mama and I had eaten there a couple of times when I was a kid so I knew it was good.”_

_“You and your mother? Wait, back up. I thought you two were pretty strapped after your father died.” Tony put a companionable hand on her shoulder, then promptly made a face as she felt the tension. “You know, even Howard used to complain about how much he'd have to shell out for dinner at Rusterman's, and the only time he ever had to worry about money was when his dad cut off his allowance while he was in college.” _

_“One of Dad's friends from the old neighborhood went into construction and landed a couple of sweetheart deals working on the sewers. He kept an eye on us after he made it big – paid the rent a couple of times, made sure my portfolio got to the right people at Cooper Union. That sort of thing.” Despite her mood Steph smiled at the memory of James Rowan, big and rough-handed even in a tailored suit, squiring her and her mother into the airy, expensive dining room as if they were a pair of society dames, not a widowed laundress and her sickly daughter. “I sometimes wonder if he was sweet on Mama. He had a daughter a little older than me, too, so if he'd actually talked her into something permanent I'd have had a big sister.”_

_“Things work out the way they're supposed to, or so Granny Carbonell always said.” Tony heaved an exaggerated sigh and dug surprisingly strong fingers into the knot between Steph's shoulder blades until the muscles loosened. “I was going to ask if you wanted to grab a burger somewhere, but what say we hit Rusterman's one last time? You can glam yourself up, I'll wear something decent for a change. What say you?“_

_“I - “ Steph considered for a moment, then nodded. “That sounds like fun. Sure.”_

_Tony broke into a bright, happy grin. “Great! See you in thirty - “_

“I'm not even sure if we're going to have a holiday party this year,” Steph murmured, picking up a slender stalk of asparagus and taking her first nibble. It had been dressed in a delicate vinaigrette studded with black garlic and a dash of something that might have been truffle oil, and she couldn't suppress a tiny sigh of pleasure at the taste. “It's a thought, though.”

“It should be more than a thought,” said Pete. He took a drink of his own wine and licked a few drops off his lips. “Believe me, a break now and then does a body good. There was one time when Moira McTaggart took us all out to a pub owned by her cousin or something, and - “

The conversation flowed after that, easy and natural, and by the time Pete had whipped out a dish of sugar-dusted hothouse strawberries that were almost too pretty to eat, it was as if they'd never been apart. Pete didn't even object when Steph asked to sketch him while he poured the coffee, never mind that all she had was a ballpoint pen and a pad of note paper with the HAMMER logo in the upper left corner.

“You still have it, you know,” he said after she'd shown him the result. “You really should have been an artist, you know, not a warrior. Why didn't you? After you woke up, that is.”

“Too much to do.” Steph compared the image to the man. His eyes were a little off, but otherwise she'd managed a decent approximation of Pete's quick, clever hands and slightly awkward limbs. “The Avengers needed a field commander, I needed a place to settle in. After that – well, things happened. And kept happening. It wasn't easy carving out time for a personal life. You know that as well as anyone.”

“Truth.” Pete stopped, his expression pained. He jammed his hand into his jacket and pulled out a small package. “I'm sorry to be rude, but if I don't get this on I'm going to go out of my mind.”

“Get what on? I don't – oh.” Steph set the notepad aside and watched as he stripped to the waist, took a deep breath, and yanked something small and peach-colored away from his chest. He was as lean and wiry as ever, with enough muscle to tantalize without being repulsive. “Nicotine patch? You're actually trying to quit?”

“After my last stress test? I wasn't really given a choice.” Pete glared at the expended patch as if were personally responsible for the morning's disaster, tossed it into the air, and incinerated it with a quick snap of his fingers. “Worse, I'm allergic to the drugs. That means it's either this or go cold turkey, and you know what I'm like then. This one ran out hours ago and I thought I was good, but it's really starting to hit. 

“Look. I know this will sound a bit presumptuous, but – I'm supposed to put it on just under my shoulder blade this time and I can't reach back that far without falling flat on my face. Could you do the honors?”

The last time they'd touched had the night before the final battle with the Registration forces. It had been rough and desperate and almost primal, as if they'd somehow know what would happen, and Steph hadn't been surprised to find a smear of red on the toiler paper when she'd relieved herself afterward. He'd visited her in jail once, to bring the news that he'd been assigned to the detail that would take her into court, and even now, even after she'd viewed every second of film of that awful day that she could stand, she couldn't see any signs of mind control until he'd actually pulled her against him and fired.

“You're awfully trusting tonight,” she said at last, holding out her hand for the nicotine patch. “Turning your back on a girl you've done wrong isn't always a good idea.”

His shoulders slumped. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't - “

“I'm joking, Pete. Joking.” She peeled open the small flat package and moved to stand behind him. “Left?”

“Got it in one,” he said, tensing slightly as she positioned the medicated bandage and pressed down. His skin was warm – no surprise for a mutant who could absorb and manipulate sunlight – and surprisingly soft over firm, toned, muscle. She wet her lips, suddenly remembering every time she'd raked her nails down that sleek body, every time she'd wrapped a leg over that trim waist. Her loins clenched, once, and she had to remind herself that they were in an office tower, not a bedroom.

“There – right – yes, that's it.” A shiver ran through him as she smoothed the patch into place. His voice had gone rough and low in the way that had always driven her wild. “Right there.”

“Good. I wanted – wanted - “

_You. I want you._

“ - to get it right and – and - “

The room was suddenly warm enough that she unzipped the front panel of her uniform down to the tip of the star and peeled the fabric back enough to expose her collarbone. Pete turned, eyes widening at the sight of her bare skin, and seized her hands in both of his. His lips had parted just enough for her to see the tip of his tongue. 

“Steph - Stephanie - “

“Peter.” His hands were hot enough to make her shiver. “We – what's - “

_\- happening, the hell -_

“I'm sorry, love, so sorry – I was a right coward and - “ His pupils had dilated to the point where his eyes were almost black. “I shouldn't have left. Never. Forgive me, I - ”

“It's – it's all right, it's the past, it's - “ The sweet wet ache of arousal lanced through her, so intense it almost hurt. Had she really missed him that much?

His mouth was almost as warm as his hands, sweet from the berries and bitter from the ink-black coffee he'd brought from Vienna. She gasped, swaying slightly as he pulled her flat against his body and kissed and nipped and licked at her throat. “I missed you, Christ I missed you – please Steph, please don't make me leave, let me stay, let me - “

“Yes yes, always, it's all right, it's - “

_\- burning heat from his skin, his mouth, his hands oh god his hands, his sex filling her up, thrusting and tensing before he poured himself into her - _

He kissed her again, one hand molding itself to her breast as if he could tease her through the armored cloth. She moaned, tongue raking past his teeth, and pressed close enough to feel his erection trapped between their bellies. Her hips jerked forward, and he groaned at the pressure. “God, I want you, I want - “

_\- staking his claim, gasping mine mine mind, spilling so deep she could feel his seed flooding her, filling her, completing her - _

The hand on her breast snaked down to her waist, tearing at her belt to open her trousers and cup the throbbing ache between her legs. “You really do, don't you? Christ, you're _dripping_ , can't wait to get you on your back and - “

_\- too fast, too fast slow down Stephanie slow DOWN -_

His chair tipped over with a crash that made the dining table rock as they reeled into it. Steph hissed as his teeth scraped across her neck, arousal spiking higher and higher and - 

_B-deet-deet._

_B-deet-deet._

_B-deet-deet -_

“Fuck,” Peter snarled, tearing his lips from her neck as his communicator signaled. His breath came in harsh, ugly pants. “Bloody, buggering, sodding _fuck_ , I'm off duty - “

_B-deet-deet._

_B-deet-deet._

_B-deet-deet -_

Steph wrenched free and grabbed at her corner of her desk with one flailing hand. Her legs were actually trembling. “Answer it. You know they wouldn't call if it weren't important.”

“Bastards.” His hair fell in a sweaty hank across his eyes, and he swiped it back with a curse as he hit the _answer_ key on his phone. “This is Wisdom. What's going on?”

Steph turned away to give him – give them both - some semblance of privacy as her pulse slowed from trip hammer fast to something that approached normal. She made a show of finger-combing her hair and straightening her uniform in case her own communicator rang, but it stayed silent as Pete talked with his handlers. She tasted the tiniest hint of copper and iron on her mouth along with lipstick as she ran a tissue across her face.

Thank God Daisy Johnson was off the roll tonight.

“You're certain? No one else?” Pete hissed and smacked his thigh. “Fucking Christ - all right. I'll be down directly.”

He bared his teeth at the phone, then reached for his sweater, pausing to listen with his free hand halfway in an armhole. “Yes, yes – you owe me, you know that, don't you? More than you know, you sodding – all _right_ , I'm on my way! Wisdom out.”

He finished pulling on the sweater, tucked it into his jeans with unusual care, and shoved the phone into his pocket hard enough it was a miracle he didn't pop the stitching. “God. That was the station chief in Prague. There's a lead on someone in bloody _Arkansas_ buying a medieval ampulla, and I'm the nearest agent. I'll be back as soon as I can, but - “

“This is more important,” said Steph, drawing a breath that was only slightly shaky. Tony's life was at stake, and that came before everything else.

Even this.

“If you need transport I can authorize a Quinjet. We have a couple on standby at Islip.”

“No, they're sending someone to extract me.” Pete gathered her in his arms again, craning his neck so he could rest his check on her hair despite being an inch or two shorter. “Three hours from now I'll be in some place called Bentonville, wherever the hell that is.”

“I think it's the home of Wal-Mart, if you can believe that,” Steph managed as she slowly lifted his coat from the chair and held it out for him. The sharp, lovely ache in her groin had faded enough that she felt sticky and unclean. “Good hunting.”

“I hope so.” Pete gave her a final kiss, hard and full of regret, and strode out the door before she could reply.

Steph waited until she heard the faint, distant chime of the elevator before she checked her communicator. There were two messages from Bucky, one confirming arrival in Vienna, one complaining about pitiful excuse for coffee at the local field office, and a picture from Sam of pigeons with a caption that probably made sense to a bird lover but could have been in Mongolian for all Steph knew. Otherwise her inbox was clear, and she set the device to night mode. The graveyard shift knew where to find her in case of emergency.

It didn't take long to clean up the remains of dinner – everything except the wine glasses was plastic or paper, so all she had to do was gather up the trash and shove it into the recycle bin – turn off the lights in her office, and move into the adjoining room Hill had set up as makeshift sleeping quarters for nights when Steph needed to work late. It was a plain little space that probably had been designed as a reception area, but there was a bathroom with a tiled shower, blackout curtains on the windows, and a converted cloakroom with space enough for a spare uniform and a change or two of civilian clothing. The furniture, all plain, all scratched, was worn enough that it had probably come from Fury's old substation under the barbershop. The only thing that saved the room from being nearly as grim as Steph's wartime billet in London was the cheerful comforter and matching sheets Hill had picked out for the bed.

“It's not much but it's better than the crib,” Hill had said as she gave Steph what passed for a tour. She'd shrugged in apology. “I can order something else if you like – there's enough in the budget, barely.”

“No, this is fine,” Steph had said, almost meaning it. A bed-in-a-bag from a discount store wouldn't have been her choice for linens, but at least it wasn't red, white, and blue.

She stripped off her uniform, shoved her sodden panties into the laundry, and took a fast, hot shower. Five minutes later she'd brushed her teeth, braided her dripping hair, and pulled on a plain pair of sleep pants and a worn “Army of One” t-shirt before all but falling into the pretty little bed. The alarm read 12:30, and Steph winced at the thought of getting up in six hours, serum or no. 

_And what then, Stephanie Germaine? What then?_

The heat in her loins was back without warning, wet and clenching and so, so empty. She tried squeezing her legs together as hard as she could to take the edge off, but almost before she's realized it she'd heaved onto her side, shoved down her clothes, and jammed her right hand into her slippery folds. Images danced before her eyes - 

_\- Pete thrusting like a madman as she screamed his name, begged him to fuck her, fill her, complete her wantyouloveyouwantyouwantyourbabywant youwantitpleasepleaseplease \- _

_\- a little church in Brooklyn, pews filled with friends and family as Bucky walked her down the aisle in a pure white dress cut loose enough to hide the nascent swell below her waist, Pete standing proud and straight by the altar -_

_“we are gathered to bless this union”_

_\- a glowing hand splayed possessively across her belly -_

\- faster and faster, panting moaning crying out loud so good so good so good - 

_\- “Steph? What are you doing?“_

_\- the garden at the old Mansion on a perfect summer day, the air all but gold in the heat and so hot the cold melted from her hair, her skin, her hands -_

_“Steph? Honey? What's going on?_

_She whirled, heart slamming against her ribs at the sound of the first voice she'd heard when she'd come of the ice._

_“Tony? Oh thank God it's you it's you it's - “_

_That smile, that beautiful white smile -_

_“Who else would it be?”_

\- back arching clit throbbing wet hot glorious - 

_\- kissing clinging naked soft warm so so light in her arms shellhead always best friend should have talked always you always you only you only you_

_only_

_only_

_only_

_you-_

Steph came down from her climax with a scream that all but shook the secondhand bed to pieces. She lay shaking, face buried in her pillow, one leg moving feebly back and forth as she struggled for breath. Her thighs were feverishly hot, the tight muscles quivering slightly in reaction as the last waves of orgasm pulsed slowly down from womb to labia.

What the hell had just happened?

Eventually she managed to stagger from the rumpled bed to the spartan bath. Her face and throat and breasts were flushed scarlet except for the darkening bruise on her throat where Pete had sunk his teeth. Her eyes were enormous, the irises so wide the blue was almost swallowed by black. 

Pete. A white wedding in a pretty little church. Everyone happy and smiling. 

_\- a miracle growing under her heart -_

“It's not possible.” Steph pressed her hand against an abdomen that was as flat and muscular as ever, then turned the cold tap on full, filled her cupped hands, and splashed her face and upper body until her skin was its normal milky pale. The washcloth from her shower was still slightly warm, so she soaked it in the running water until it was the right temperature to soothe her aching sex. “It's _not_.”

Tony. A garden in the sunlight. Passion and joy and relief.

_\- a purpose and a home -_

She bent her head over the sink, breath harsh in the small, silent room. What the hell was going on?

Somehow she managed to clean herself for the second time that night without thinking of anything but the task at hand. Her nightclothes stank of sweat and orgasm, and she shuddered at the thought of trying to sleep in them before crushing them into a damp little ball and shoving them deep into the hamper. The bed wasn't much better, but at least she could flip the pillow over and cover the wet spot with a clean towel.

_“Steph? What are you doing?“_

_Tony stood in the doorway, gloriously nude and all but glowing thanks to a tan just dark enough to leave her sun-kissed, not burnt. Steph held out her arms, bracing herself as Tony took two steps and lept._

_“Waiting for you - ”_

_She laughed as Tony clung to her, the RT shining between her beautiful soft breasts as she drew Steph into a kiss that said everything they'd never spoken aloud, not in all the years since Tony had thawed her out, fought at her side, been her friend no matter what -_

Her friend. Always. Even the Civil Water hadn't changed that. Nothing would. Nothing could.

Could she say the same about Pete? Had there ever been more than the physical between them? 

 

_Think about it later, Stephanie Germaine. Right now isn't the time or the place._

_Later._

At least this time she slept, when she finally did sleep, without anything that resembled a dream.


	7. Chapter 6

_From the memory banks of Antonia Edwina Stark (deleted)_

_...”Tony? Tony?”_

_Footsteps. Long strides, quick and light but with weight behind them._

_“My God – Tony, I heard – “_

_Of course she'd heard. It had been all over the news._

_“Tony? Are you – “_

_A hand on her shoulder, long callused fingers, narrow palm, strong but still so gentle -_

_“I'm so sorry. I came as soon as I could.”_

_Why was Steph crying? She'd barely known Rumiko._

_“What can I do? I'm here for you, honey, you know that. Whatever you need, it's yours, I've already told Carol to cover for me for a few days - “_

_The Avengers were one part of her life. Rumiko – beautiful, sweet, funny Rumiko, who'd defied her family to come out on Tony's arm – was another._

_“Tony, please. Talk to me. You need to come inside, get something to eat – Tony?”_

_Keeping them separate was supposed to keep Rumi safe. Keep her alive._

_“You're shaking like a leaf, take my jacket before you freeze - “_

_Great job she'd done of that._

_“Tony?”_

_Leather and acetate heavy on her skin, a whiff of Emeraude and clean sweat and White Rain hairspray wafting up from the fleece collar -_

_“Tony?”_

_She clutched at the lapels of a motorcycle jacket that wasn’t hers, lifted her head and turned from the railing of the Mansion's roof deck. Steph, in a black turtleneck and olive drab trousers, stood close enough to touch. Moisture glittered on her pale, pale cheeks._

_“What are you doing here?”_

_Steph's lips parted for a moment before she swallowed back what might have been a sob. “Pepper told me about – about what Ward did. I'm so sorry, Tony. What can I do?”_

_“Unless you steal Reed's time machine? Not a goddamn thing.” Tony shut her eyes and sucked in a breath so deep her lungs could barely hold it. “Not that I'd ask for that. Time's screwed up enough without me being so – so selfish.”_

_Steph jerked her head up and down. “I get that,“ she said, and Tony remembered all the times she'd heard her friend crying softly after lights-out as she grieved for her cousin and her friends and the world she'd left behind in 1945._

_“I meant, what can I do right now? You shouldn't be alone.”_

_Alone. No more Rumi holding her close, kissing her, touching and loving and -_

_“I always end up this way,” Tony said. The salt on her cheeks burned in the evening wind as she dashed at it with one hand. “Every single time. Doesn't matter what I do, how I love, who I love. I'm meant to be alone.”_

_Steph put both her hand over Tony's, squeezed hard enough that the calluses on her palms rasped against Tony's knuckles. “Don't say that, honey. This wasn't your fault.”_

_“Wasn't it? She was looking for me when Ward showed up and - “ The tears started again, bitter and hot, and she clung to those strong, slim hands as if they somehow could bring her love back to life. “I'd bought a ring. I was going to – going to propose – it's legal in Boston, I was going to take her to the Pru and ask her - “_

_“Oh, Tony, Tony, I'm so sorry.” The strongest arms she knew wrapped around her, and the voice that could command a god murmured softly as Tony finally, finally let out the wail that had stuck in her throat ever since the light had gone out of Rumi's eyes. “That's right, let it go. Sh, sh, I'm here, I've got you, I'm here - “_

_It wasn't clear how long Tony cried, and she was never sure what she said as the grief and the guilt poured out. At last, at long last, Steph pulled out a clean white hanky and made sure to wipe away tears and mucus and what was left of the mascara and eye shadow and blush Tony had worn for what was supposed to be a night out. “God. I can't believe - “_

_“Come on inside.” Steph shoved her sodden hanky into the pocket of her trousers. “Jarvis made tea and toast and a little soup. He said you'd be able to keep that down.”_

_“He knows me way too well.” Tony huddled in the too-big jacket as Steph walked them into the master suite. “Jesus. That's the same damn thing he made when my parents – my parents - “_

_The old grief bubbled again to join the new, and she clung to Steph until the fresh tears had passed. “Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to fall apart like that.”_

_“Like you aren't entitled,” said Steph. This time it was a paper napkin, crumpled and smelling slightly of a Sabrett’s hot dog with extra relish, that appeared out of a black sleeve to dab at Tony's eyes. “I'm bunking on your sofa tonight. No arguments. You shouldn't be by yourself.”_

_“Yes, ma'am,” Tony said. She swallowed, suddenly aware of how thirsty she was. “Y’know, I really was going to settle down. The ring – it's in my desk, along with the reservations for dinner at Top of the Hub. It's a shitty restaurant but the view is something else, you can see for miles, the Charles looks amazing - “_

_“I'll bet it does.” Steph helped her over the threshold into her rooms. A cart with a teapot, cups, and a covered salver stood next to the breakfast table. “Pete and I had dinner at Windows on the World once, when we were still dating. He said later they could have served us bangers and mash and it would have been worth it, the view was so good.”_

_“Yeah, I remember. I took Rumi there a couple of times.” Tony did not move as Steph eased the leather jacket off her shoulders and slid the glass door to the deck closed. “It was the closest I could get to showing what it was like to fly without actually taking her up with the suit.”_

_“I'll bet,” said Steph. She poured a cup of tea and held it to Tony's lips. One sip was enough that Tony knew she'd brewed it herself. Jarvis would never have served anything so dark and strong. “Whatever you need, it's yours. I mean it, Tony. Saving the world can wait for a couple of weeks.”_

_Tony cradled the teacup and let the warmth sink into her hands. “Thanks.” She stared at the crisp tablecloth Jarvis positioned just so on the butler's cart. Steph uncovered the salver and nudged a rack of perfectly toasted slices of whole wheat bread in Tony's direction._

_“Here. Eat.”_

_“You really are the Avengers' den mother, aren't you?” The toast tasted like sawdust in her mouth, but Tony did as she was told. "Was that what they used to call you, the Mother of America? Mother of Democracy?"_

_“That was actually my evil twin, Betsy Ross,” said Steph without missing a beat. She spooned a dollop of strawberry-champagne jam she'd canned herself onto the next slice and handed it to Tony. “I've got enough to do looking after you and the rest of the gang - “_

_[file ends]_

 

The next week was a classic example of what Sergeant Duffy had called “hurry up and wait.” 

According to the Central European desk, there'd actually been chatter about something hinky at the Spatzkammer over a year ago, but Fury had been so caught up in the SHRA and its aftermath that he'd never pulled the trigger on assigning a team to see what was what. Steph used a few choice curses when she read the report on her way to a workout, beat the hell out of a heavy bag to bleed off some of the anger, then put it aside. Nick had done the best he could under horrendous circumstances – they all had – and blaming him now made as much sense as yelling at Bucky for putting gum on Father Brubaker's shoes at Midnight Mass in 1926.

Either way, the trail had gone cold long before Natasha starting making phone calls to her old Eastern European contacts. The CIA was no help - “we don't usually concern ourselves with art theft, Commander,” their station chief had said, and that was that – and the Austrian police were still sensitive enough after the mess with the Cellini salt cellar that none of them would even admit that part of the Hapsburg coronation regalia had stolen straight out of their biggest museum.

Even Logan came up empty-handed despite personally visiting Madripoor and leaving a trail of terrified antiquity dealers all but pissing themselves in his wake. “Sorry, Steph, but I can't sniff out what ain't there,” he'd said, dripping cigar ashes all over the less than pristine carpeting in her office, and she'd been so disheartened after their meeting she'd forgotten to order the cleaners to take care of it until Daisy Johnson asked if she'd taken up smoking.

It was the same story from Interpol, the UN, MI-6, the Deuxieme: rumors, speculation, and not a scrap of useful information. The ampulla and oil had vanished as if someone had whisked them into another dimension – and even _that_ wasn't the case, at least according to Stephen Strange.

Even Pete Wisdom's expedition to Arkansas proved futile. Oh, the Waltons were definitely looking for medieval items for the museum they were building to house their art collection, but they wanted an aquamanile (or two, or three), not an ampulla. 

“They already have six, or so the bloke in charge of security told me,” Pete said a few hours after he'd touched down at LaGuardia. He'd insisted on dragging Steph out for dinner, which meant pizza at a Murray Hill eatery that offered artisan delights like white pies with oyster mushrooms, basil, and a drizzle of truffle oil. “A couple of them came from less than reputable dealers - “

“Not a surprise,” Steph murmured. The Monuments Men had done their best but so much was still missing. 

“ - but these particular items were clean as a whistle.” Pete's jaw tightened. “Looks like another dead end. I'm sorry, love.”

“Don't use that word,” Steph said automatically. The pizza would have been better if it had been less calculated – there was only so much one could or should do to fancy up a typical New York thin crust, for God's sake - but she'd skipped lunch and it was a damn sight tastier than that deep dish stuff the night shift all but inhaled when no one was looking. 

“Which one?” Pete hesitated. “Love? I'm – I'm sorry, it just slipped out. I shouldn't have presumed - ”

Steph stared at the candle their server had lit after ushering them to their seats. Neither of them had spoken of how their first dinner had nearly ended, and it was not something she wanted to hash out in a crowded restaurant. “No, not that. I meant 'dead.'”

“Oh.” Pete rolled his wine glass between his fingers. Tonight it was a hearty Tuscan red that would stand up to Italian food. “I take the news isn't good?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny - “

“Steph, come on. This is me you're taking to.” He set down the glass and reached across the table to give her right hand a squeeze. The candlelight reflected in his eyes, making them glow red like a Siamese cat's. “She's getting worse, isn't she?”

“If only it were that simple.” Steph waited for him to wave away the dessert cart before continuing. She was in no mood for anything sweet, even if the glazed strawberry tarts in a balsamic vinegar glaze looked like tiny edible jewels. “There's been no change in her condition – still in a coma, still on life support. They haven't put in a feeding tube” _\- yet -_ “ - but Jane did order physical therapy to keep her joints from locking up.”

Pete traced the bones of her hand with a gentleness that almost made her forget the near-feral rutting of a few days earlier. “That doesn't sound good.”

“It's not much different from the standard treatment for long-term coma patients, or so Jane says.” Steph released his fingers and took a bite of the last slice of pizza. She would not admit, even to herself, how ominous those words sounded. “That's not the problem. It's Reed.”

“Reed? What does - “ Pete inhaled sharply enough that a diner at the next table glanced over at them. “Don't tell me he's actually going to try that hare-brained scheme Tony cooked up?”

“Maybe.” Steph swallowed and pushed her plate aside. Her last phone conversation with Mr. Fantastic had been less than pleasant, and less than productive. “He's run the numbers again, or so he says, and he convinced he can bring Tony back without the oil. Of course her memories will still be - “

“Neutered?” said Pete after a long, careful pause.

“'Flattened' is the word Jane used.” Steph turned in her chair so she was facing the street and the crowds bustling past on their way to dinner, or a show, or a late run to the nearest bodega. “Right now he can't, at least not without theshield, and he's not getting that as long as Bucky's conscious. I wouldn't put it past him to try to find a substitute, though.”

“Good luck with that.” Pete glowered at his table setting. “I hope you don't mind my saying this, but Richards would be better off with a smaller IQ and more common sense. What's next, using a Tesla coil if Thor doesn't come back in time?”

“I wouldn't put it past him,” Steph said. A Lucky Star cab flitted past, two dim shapes that might have been a couple in the back seat. “He's even worse than Tony when it comes to thinking that technology is the answer to everything. If I had a nickel for every time one of his schemes has backfired - “

There was no answer for that, and thank God Pete knew her well enough to keep his mouth shut. He finished his wine, lanky body slumped in his chair, and waited for Steph to pull out her compact and refresh her lipstick before crooking a finger at their waitress. 

She let him pay – he'd invited her, she'd pick up the check next time – and usher her out onto Lexington before speaking. “I need to head back to Central to get my bike. Walk with me?”

“Always,” he said, and fell into step beside her as she started across East 31st. It was a misty night, almost foggy, and she shivered at the moist touch of the wind on her skin. Would she ever get past hating the cold?

They were halfway to the Chrysler Building when Pete broke the silence. “Look. About the other night - “

Steph held up one finger and turned onto East 35th. It was a quiet residential oasis of doorman buildings and old brownstones that had scarcely changed since her girlhood despite being so close to Midtown. She waited until they were halfway up the block to speak. 

“I was wondering when you'd bring that up.” 

“So was I, to be honest.” Pete reached into the pocket where he usually kept his cigarettes, made a face, and cursed softly as his hand came up empty. “Damn, I never know what to do with my hands these days. It's almost worse than the cravings – “

Steph tried and failed to stifle a chuckle as he flung out his arms in the universal gesture of _I give up_ and nearly took out a planter on the front steps of what looked like a local church. “Don't you dare snicker, Rogers, you have no idea of what I'm going through and - “

The chuckle turned into a full-blown guffaw. When was the last time she'd been able to laugh? “Like I haven't heard that what, four or five times already? Heavens above - “

“Says Miss 'I can't get addicted to drugs.'” Pete grabbed at the planter before it could topple onto his foot, made a face, then reluctantly grinned. “I look a right berk tonight, don't I? Sorry.”

Steph shook her head, still laughing. “Don't worry about it. This is me, remember? Your – what was the name of that awful movie a few years ago?”

“ _My Super Duper Former Gal Pal_ , and yes, it was awful.” Pete gave an exaggerated shudder at the memory of one of their least successful dates. “I'm amazed you didn't didn't sic your lawyers on them – 'Lady Freedom'? What were they thinking?”

“They weren't. That's why it was so bad.” Steph ran her hand back over her hair as she regained her breath. She'd been dreading the next few minutes, but being able to reminisce without getting losing her temper was a good sign. “Look. I'm not angry with you. Whatever happened - _almost_ happened – wasn't bad. Unexpected, yes, but not bad.”

“Thank God. I've been expecting you to kick my sorry arse halfway to the river ever since I got off the plane.” The crooked, almost shy smile that was half the reason she'd fallen for him played about his lips. “Steph, I swear I wasn't planning for things to heat up that fast. I just wanted to apologize and see if you'd give me another chance. That was all.”

Steph folded her arms and leaned against a high wrought-iron fence that separated the church courtyard from the sidewalk. White asparagus in truffle oil and oysters from the fish chef at what had been her favorite childhood restaurant hinted at something more than _please take me back_. “You know, itIt would have been nice if you'd warned me about being the courier for the ampulla. Seeing you walk in with that briefcase was the last thing I expected.”

“I didn't know until - “

“Stop.” She raised one hand, palm out. The air was cool enough that she wished she hadn't left her gloves in her locker along with the rest of her uniform when she'd left Central for the night. “Like I said, I'm not angry, at least not much. If things got out of hand, it was as much my fault as yours.”

“Fair enough.” He took a slightly shaky breath. “Friends at least?”

She did not move as he leaned close enough for her to smell the clean, bracing scent of bay rum aftershave on his cheeks and chin. “Don't be silly. When could I ever stay mad at you?”

He ducked his head, smiling again. “Well, there's the time I accidentally burned a hole in that scarf you knitted for me.”

_”I told you this wasn't going to work.” Tony reluctantly held up the tangled mess that had started as a skein of beautiful red and gold hand-dyed merino/alpaca blend from a wool seller at the Bryant Park green market. “I'm no good at girl stuff, never have been.”_

_“Knitting is not 'girl stuff,' Tony.” Steph set her half-completed shawl aside and retrieved the yarn before Tony made things worse. “It's great therapy for battle fatigue and hand injuries.”_

_“Neither of which is my problem.” Tony shrugged, not at all casually. “Mom and her sisters tried to teach me to knit and crochet when I was a kid, you know. They finally gave up when the tie I made for Howard for Father's Day looked more like a penis than anything else.”_

_Steph all but choked at the image. “You – cancel that. I don't want to know.”_

_“No, you really don't,” said Tony. She stared disconsolately at her hands. “That was the first time Mom said it was a good thing she hadn't named me 'Grace.' I'm hopeless with anything small and delicate.”_

_It wasn't true, unless the tiny electrical components Tony had used to power that first chest plate somehow didn't count. Steph raised an eyebrow and fixed Tony with her best “Captain America can see right through you” stare. “Here. Take what's left of the ball and keep a gentle tension on this. I'm going to see what I can do.”_

_“Like we don't have better stuff to do, like beat up bad guys.” Tony scowled but did as she was told. “How is this therapeutic? I swear my blood pressure went up a hundred points, and no, I did not check with Extremis so you can stop looking at me like I'm gum on your shoe.”_

_“Hush. If it works for Dum-Dum Dugan and Nick Fury - “_

_“Nick Fury? You taught him to knit?”_

_“ - it'll work for you if you stop psyching yourself out,” said Steph, deftly teasing the strands apart enough to smooth out the knots. What the heck had Tony been doing? “And no, I did not teach Nick Fury to knit. That was a doughnut dolly in a Red Cross unit from Minnesota when he was laid up with a bad ankle. Her name was Stella Jorgensen and I think she wanted to marry him.”_

_Tony shuddered and pretended to hold up a crucifix. “Nick Fury and a doughnut girl? That is so many levels of 'wrong' I can't even - “_

_“For crying out loud, would you hold still?” Steph cursed as the gesture caused the already knotted hank of yarn to slip off onto her lap. “Now we're right back where we started - “_

Steph opened her mouth, shut it again. She'd spent nearly a month on the blasted thing, which had been of stiff, heavy wool blended with the same unstable molecules that kept Johnny Storm from breaking public decency laws every time he flamed on. Pete had thanked her, worn it for less than a week, and then managed to leave several large holes in the fabric for reasons that he had never quite managed to explain. “I'd almost forgotten about that, you know. Thanks for reminding me.”

Pete winced. “Bugger. I really am cocking it up tonight.”

“Kidding, Pete,” she said, voice dropping to a reasonable level as a window on the second floor of the church lit up. “Kidding.”

“Thank God.” He closed the final distance between them, carefully took her hands in his. “I shouldn't ask, but if there's any chance at all - “

It was Steph's turn to hesitate. Her dreams had been troubled since the night he'd left, at least the few she could remember, and more than once she'd wakened tangled in her sheets - 

_\- sunlight in a garden and kisses without fear -_

and aching for - 

_\- a dim little church and a family of her own -_

for - 

for - 

“This is a lousy time, Pete,” she said. A shudder rippled through her as he lightly touched his lips to her brow. “Really. There's so much to do.”

“When isn't there?” he murmured. “Steph, Steph – you can't bear the weight of the world by yourself. You of all people should know that.”

“I do.” His breath was warm and slightly sour from their meal. “I can't make any promises – SHIELD is a mess, Osborn's lawyers are trying to spring him, and then there's Tony - “

Pete's face seemed to tighten for the barest instant at the mention of Tony Stark. “Aren't you the one who used to say that you'd spent so much time as Captain America that you'd almost forgotten how to be Stephanie Rogers? Even you can't bear the weight of the world by yourself, you know. A personal life – maybe something more – it's not a bad thing.” 

The light from the second floor window flicked out. Steph took a moment to choose her words. “Like I said, I can't make any promises, at least not immediately. But there's always a chance.”

He slipped his arms about her, waiting until she'd followed suit to tighten the embrace. “That's all I ask, love. It's enough for right now.”

“Good,” she murmured, and let him kiss her again.


	8. Chapter 7

_Excerpt from the diary of Abraham Erskine, archived in the files of the Army Medical Department. There is a notation that the diary is to be considered top secret and held under seal until the year 2041._

_…Miss Rogers lacks medical training but her work documenting my experiments and Project Rebirth in general has made her well aware of the dangers inherent in the process. She is an intelligent, perceptive young woman with an unusual degree of courage for one of her sex, and were she a man I would have chosen her as the first test subject without hesitation. I am especially impressed by her willingness to step in for Private Paxton so that preliminary human trials of the serum and the radiation protocols will not be unnecessarily delayed._

_Nonetheless, I went over the procedure in detail with her this evening in preparation for the final tests tomorrow. She asked a few questions but it was clear that she fully understood both the risks and the benefits of the serum. I cautioned her that the procedure is intended to be irreversible and gave her several chances to change her mind, but she was adamant that she was comfortable with becoming a veritable Amazon who would be as far ahead of the average woman as a modern racing car is of a horse and buggy._

_Although Miss Rogers will not go into combat, I did make certain adjustments to the formula as if she were indeed intended for the front lines, as the War Department cannot rule out the possibility of all-female combat units should America be pulled into a two-front war. A woman’s reproductive cycle poses certain difficulties on long trips under primitive conditions, as I learned from my dear wife’s experiences during our research in Abyssnia ten years ago, and such cannot be allowed in a soldier._

_I accordingly added an extract from the silphium laserpicium plant to the serum which will be given to Miss Rogers. This extract, which was first recorded in ancient times as used by female soldiers and upper class women to regulate the menses and prevent conception, will ensure that Miss Rogers will never again be burdened by the blood loss and cramping of menstruation, nor will she be at risk for conceiving a child should she engage in sexual relations._

_I confess that I had certain qualms about this side effect of the serum, as I have observed Miss Rogers’ delight whenever she encounters a small child. She is a kind and warmhearted young lady, and health problems aside, would be an excellent mother. I would not willingly take this aspect of womanhood from her, and after explaining why I had changed the formula, I offered to substitute the version intended for Private Paxton so that she might someday have a child of her own._

_Miss Rogers refused the original formula, stating that she has no plans to wed and doubts that she will be “marriage material” if Project Rebirth succeeds on the grounds that “men don’t like girls who can lick ‘em in a fight.” I reiterated that the procedure is irreversible, and that a sweet and intelligent young lady like herself should not willingly cut herself off from the prospect of having a family of her own. She then confessed that she had been rendered incapable of having children during her stay in an orphanage after her mother’s death, as the staff believed that her health problems would make her an unsuitable candidate for motherhood, and thus was long accustomed to the idea of never having her own family._

_I expressed to her my shock that such an operation had been inflicted upon her, especially in view of her obvious intelligence and good character. Miss Rogers only shook her head and reiterated that she has known since she was but fourteen years old that she would not be a mother, and that she was content with her lot. “Someone has to be the worker bee, not the queen. I’m fine with it, Doctor. I really am,” she said, and assured me once again that she would prefer the modified formula._

_She then signed all the requisite paperwork and bade me good night before repairing to her quarters to rest before tomorrow’s procedure. I have written this down to make it clear that she undergoes this process fully aware of the consequences -_

 

“Thank you, Leon.” The President adjusted the reading glasses he only used in private and nodded at one intelligence chief before turning to the next. “Commander Rogers?”

Steph waited for SHIELD's presidential aide to hand the President his briefing packet before picking up her own copy. The other intelligence agencies were based in Washington so their chiefs had no problems attending meetings at the White House, but she'd obtained permission to participate via holoconference since SHIELD's primary headquarters was either in New York or on one of the helicarriers. 

Usually that meant Nick Fury's old lounge at SHIELD Central in Manhattan. Today it was the ward room on the _Medea_ , the least damaged of SHIELD's aerial peacekeepers. Steph had finally been able to clear her schedule enough to tour what was left of the fleet, make notes of which ships needed to be repaired, mothballed, or outright scrapped, and meet the individual CO's. It had taken longer than anticipated – Osborn had been inexplicably popular among the aerial corps, which had meant a scramble for new crews and captains – and spending the extra time on SHIELD's flagship made more sense than a mad dash back to New York.

Having the extra time to get used to yells of “Commander on the deck!” every time she'd gone near the bridge didn't hurt. SHIELD might be primarily ground-based, but there was enough carryover from the Navy to make Steph twitch every once in a while. 

“Yes, Mr. President.” She swallowed a yawn – why couldn't the serum make an exception for a strong cup of coffee? - and quickly skimmed the contents page to make sure nothing had blown up overnight. “Southeast Asia is quiet, with the exception of rumors of a new CRO at Nextin Pharmaceuticals - “

So it went, region by region and op by op: Alpha Flight requesting assistance in the repatriation of “Canadian national James 'Logan' Howlett, code name Wolverine, with all deliberate haste, as Howlett has refused any and all attempts at contact” (the FBI director audibly snorted, not that Steph could blame him); the Sons of the Serpent stirring up trouble near an American retirement colony in Costa Rica; a former Kronas affiliate poking around the oil fields in Baku; demonstrably fake chatter about the Kree making nice with the Shi'ahr, the Nova Corps, the Skrulls, or possibly all three at once; yet another evil genius in a lab somewhere, doing something to bring down someone or other.

It was all very routine, at least until an NSA flunky tried to get tough over SHIELD allegedly not filing every single scrap of required paperwork before using an NSA asset in an op near Darfur. Steph had let him blather for a minute or two, then slapped him down by pointing out that the NSA had neglected to inform the station chief in Khartoum that one of their assets was anywhere near a SHIELD op in the first place. 

“Not only that,” she said, raising her voice just enough to talk over the flunky without shouting, “Agent Johnson was embedded deeply enough that failing to bring her on board could have jeopardized both missions _and_ resulted in significant civilian casualties, as per the report we filed two days ago. Not activating her might well have been fatal to multiple assets from both agencies, not to mention America interests in a volatile region.” 

“That's no excuse,” he fired back, eyes narrowed and voice hard. He was young, well tailored, and oddly muscular despite the beginnings of a nice set of jowls. “Just because you were Captain America doesn't mean SHIELD is exempt - “

“Thank you for your input, Assistant Director.” The President tapped a pen against the polished top of the _Resolute_ desk. “I think SHIELD's report more than adequately covers the circumstances.”

“But - “

“Your objection has been noted,” the President said, never raising his voice, and that was the end of _that._ “If you have anything else, Commander?”

“Only that I should be able to attend the next intelligence briefing in person.” Steph folded her hands neatly in front of her and fixed the young pup with the same calm, reasoned look that had shut down more than its share of brass who weren't impressed by a woman leading the charge against the Axis. “It's past time I met some of you face to face.”

There was a muffled sloshing noise as a coffee cup tipped over onto a pile of papers, then a soft but unmistakable obscenity as someone off-camera gathered up the mess and shoved it into a trash can. 

“I think I speak for everyone when I say I'm looking forward to that, Commander.” The President deliberately raised an eyebrow and nodded at what seemed to be Steph's place at the Cabinet table. The rest of the intelligence chiefs murmured in agreement, even the suddenly pale youngster from the NSA. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Until next time.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.” Steph waited for the President to rise, then cut the transmission, yawned a second time, and leaned back as far as her seat would allow. It was much newer than her chair at Central and much less comfortable, which was not a surprise given its location and purpose. “Maria? You got that?”

“That would be affirmative, Commander,” said Hill, unfolding herself from an alcove by what the crew still referred to as a “smoking lamp” even though the helicarriers had been tobacco-free zones for nearly a decade. “I'll make sure your schedule is clear for next week.”

“Clear Daisy Johnson's, too, and inform her she'll be seconding me.” Steph worked her shoulders until they popped, then stood. “She needs the experience in dealing with non-SHIELD personnel.”

Hill was surprisingly good at smothering a chuckle when necessary. “I'm sure her equivalents at the other agencies will be thrilled. Should we tell her to wear the stealth gauntlets instead of the usual?”

“Not unless you're willing to clean up the mess if one of the baby spooks wets himself.” Steph grinned, just long enough for Hill to notice and grin back. She'd unbent considerably since Steph had called her on the carpet, and it was good to see. “Well. One task down, God knows how many to go. What's next, lunch with the Joint Chiefs? Inspecting the new minijets? Strategy session with the mess sergeant - “

“They call them 'culinary specialists' these days.”

“Excuse me, _culinary specialist,_ to go over a couple of dozen complaints from field agents about the junk they call coffee on this bucket of bolts?” Steph rubbed at her eyes until they felt a touch less gritty. Just because she could go for a few days with little or no sleep didn't mean it was a good idea. “Maybe the Army surplus chicken fajita MRE's her people are shoving into the field kits? The so-called 'lemonade' that tastes about as good as the stuff we used to degrease the guns at Bastogne?” 

“No idea about the lemonade or the coffee, but I'm pleased to report that the chicken fajitas were air dropped over the Fort Bragg quartermaster's office with extreme prejudice two days ago” Hill handed Steph a tablet with her daily calendar neatly laid out. There was a noticeable blank space after the entry for “INTELLIGENCE BRIEFING.” 

“Well, look at that. It seems that you're free for at least the next two hours, possibly longer if Johnson followed through on rescheduling the briefing with Interpol til tomorrow - “

“Back up, back up.” Steph blinked at the tablet, then at Hill. “I went over that calendar before Alpha shift came on duty. I could have sworn there was an inspection - “

“Two, both of which were actually the responsibility of Jarusinsky on the NATO desk. He sends his apologies for inadvertently dumping them on you, and says he owes you a bottle of your favorite whisky,” said Hill mildly.

“ - then a promotion ceremony - “

“Too many conflicts for the rest of Takata's section, which is why they're now at 1700 hours, after you attend the rechristening of the _Argonaut_. Which incidentally will be another remote appearance since the nearest refit yard is in Halifax and we're a lot closer to Gibraltar than the Maritimes.”

“ - then lunch with the ANZAC station chief, and - “ Steph stopped, suddenly realizing what her assistant director had done, and why. She locked the tablet, waited for it to reset to wallpaper of one of Giorgio de Chirico's less disturbing paintings, and returned it to Hill. “Isn't that interesting? My entire daily schedule seems to have been redone to leave me with a block of free time right in the middle of the day.”

Hill's eyes widened slightly as she accepted the computer and made a show of flinching at the di Chirico. “Free time? For you? Fancy that.”

“Fancy that indeed,” Steph echoed. “Guess I'd be a real big silly not to take advantage of this unexpected - “

“Gift?” supplied Hill.

“ - bonus, especially since we'll be over the Balkans later today and I'll need to be on my toes if we come within a hundred miles of Latveria,” said Steph, carefully keeping her voice as neutral as possible. “At the same time, we can't rule out the possibility that someone hacked my password and wiped the next few hours for reasons unknown. One can't be too careful when national security might be at stake, you know.”

“Of course, Commander.” Hill tsked and gave the tablet an experimental shake. “I'll look into it myself. We can't have anyone hacking your accounts, even if all they've done is make sure you get a break before you run yourself straight into the ground.”

Two field agents in full combat gear, one a probie from Bangladesh, the other her trainer, hurried past. The probie was panting slightly from the weight of a pack that looked nearly her weight and about half her height. Steph watched them take the corner at double time, the trainer rattling off a stream of advice, encouragement, and admonishment. Some things never changed.

“A hacker with my best interests at heart, eh? Curiouser and curiouser.” Steph rubbed her chin. “Especially since the most likely candidate is my cousin, who'd be far more likely to shoot a laptop than hack it, never mind that he's somewhere in Central Europe right about now.“

“Shoot it? Really?” Hill looked genuinely alarmed. “I had no idea.” 

“Remind Natasha to tell you about the time his new phone kept asking for a fingerprint instead of the metallurgical signature on his left hand. She took pictures, you know.” Steph couldn't hold back the grin this time. Bucky always had had a dicey relationship with technology, even when that meant tinkering with his mother's old crystal radio set. “Well. Since it looks like I'm free until after lunch - “

“Which will be delivered to your quarters in precisely one hour and fifteen minutes.”

“ - that should give you enough time to investigate the security breach and make sure it doesn't happen again.”

“You can count on it,” said Hill, and damned if she didn't snap off a salute that would have had Sergeant Duffy using her as an example for the rest of the “spoiled little mama's girls” the Army had saddled him with. “No more hacking, at least until the next time your loyal assistants find you asleep at your desk.”

“I know I can count on you, Maria.” Steph clapped her on the shoulder and started for what she'd been told was her billet. “Not that I was actually asleep, mind. I was merely resting my eyes.”

Hill's lips quivered, just for a second or two. “Ah, that accounts for the snoring. Good to know.”

“What snoring? The serum fixed my deviated septum in 1940. Rumors to the contrary are old Nazi propaganda, pure and simple,” said Steph, and gave Hill a slight but unmistakable push toward the ward room. “Also? Thanks.”

“That's what you think, and don't mention it,” said Hill with another bright little salute. She pivoted on one heel, squared her shoulders, and disappeared down the corridor before Steph could think of something to say.

The Director's quarters were only a few doors down from the ward room, yet more evidence that _Medea_ was based on old Navy blueprints. The room lacked a porthole but was otherwise remarkably welcoming, with a tastefully decorated sleeping alcover painted in soft neutral tones and a separate sitting area with its own desk, dining table, and computer terminal. There was even a separate bathroom that verged on the spacious, complete with a vanity stocked with sample sizes of Steph's favorite toiletries and a shower that allegedly would provide enough hot water for her to clean up nicely as long as she followed the old “get wet, soap up, rinse” protocol. A shelf or two of non-work related books hung above the desk, including several art books, a couple of popular histories, and pristine copies of the latest from Lynn Flewelling and Diane Duane.

Someone had clearly invested a good deal of effort to customize the space for SHIELD's new director, and Steph took a moment to jot down a reminder to track down whomever was responsible so she could send a proper thank you note. Barracks life had taught her to get by with as little as possible but that didn't mean she couldn't appreciate digs that were comfortable as well as practical. 

She stripped off the harness for the shield that wasn't there, peeled her tunic open, and draped both over the desk chair before heading over to the bed. A vase of American Beauty roses, stephanotis, and hollyhocks, all framed by baby's breath and a few slender ropes of ivy, had been positioned on the bedside table in a vase that seemed to be bolted in place to prevent spillage. Steph ran a fingertip over the velvety pink rose petals and drank in the sweet mingled scents before finally kicking off her boots, shucking her trousers, and stretching out on the pretty floral bedspread in her t-shirt and panties. 

Hill might have been teasing about Steph's snores (Tony hadn't mentioned it, ever, and Steph had fallen asleep on her sofa or in her lab often enough for her to know) but she wasn't wrong about how little sleep Steph had gotten lately. Cleaning up Osborn's mess was a full time job by itself, not to mention all the routine administrative and disciplinary tasks that went with being an agency head. Throw in the occasional media appearance, meetings with other intelligence chiefs foreign and domestic, and simply catching up on a year's worth of news, and it was a miracle she had the time to eat, exercise, and take the occasional shower.

Then there was Pete, who had been just ardent enough to make it clear he wanted more than kisses good night and heavy petting up against her desk...and Reed yapping about new tests for leftover Skrulls...and Bucky coming up empty again and again and again while Tony simply wasted away - 

Steph cut the lights, pulled the bedclothes up to her chin, and curled onto her left side. Even if she'd had the time to snatch more than three or four hours of sleep a night, the reports from Jane Foster were more than enough to keep her pacing the floor long after she should have been in bed. Physical therapy, IV hydration, a nasal tube, extra oxygen – all this could keep Tony's heart and lungs functioning, but for how much longer? How much longer before her brain stem failed? Before there was so much damage to her body that even Stephen Strange and the Hapsburg oil wouldn't be able to bring her back?

She shuddered, the terror she'd kept at bay by overwork roaring back like an Arctic gale. Tony had looked almost waxen the last time Steph had visited, her hands little more than cool skin and sharp bones. Jane hadn't admitted it, but Steph had seen enough dying soldiers to know that they were running out of time. 

“Goddamn it, Tony. Damn it, damn it, damn it - “ 

Exhaustion and grief all but choked her as she struggled for control. All that strength, that brilliance, that courage and loyalty and determination, lost forever- 

“Get it together, Rogers. You're no good to her or anyone else if you don't take care of yourself.” Steph dashed the sting of tears from her eyes and breathed in on a ten count, held, and breathed out. “It'll all work out somehow. It always does.”

_But how?_

 

“Commander? Ma'am?”

Steph gasped at the knock on the door and shot out of the bed, adrenaline singing in her veins as she came awake. The clock read one hour and ten minutes since she'd crawled into bed, exactly when Hill had scheduled her meal break. 

“Hang on. I'll be right there.”

She sucked in a breath to steady herself, then dragged on her trousers and half-staggered to the door. It opened on a middle aged man holding a covered tray. He wore a white version of a SHIELD duty uniform sans the usual weapons harness and utility belt. “Commander Rogers? I'm Agent Barrett, your assigned steward while you're on board. I've brought your lunch.”

“Lunch. Right.” Steph moved aside so Barrett, who was probably a few years older than he looked, could enter. “Just put it on the desk. I'll be fine.”

“Certainly, ma'am.” He lifted the cover to reveal a turkey burger with lettuce, tomato, and extra mayo, a bag of chips, a dinner salad, a slice of apple pie topped with something white and creamy, and a small plate with an assortment of packaged dressings and other condiments. “The galley had to make an educated guess at your preferences, so if you'd like something else, please feel free to ask. Agent Hill said you weren't a picky eater but better safe than sorry.”

“This is fine. Better than fine.” Steph watched as Barrett stepped back into the corridor and returned with a carafe of coffee and an oversized mug. “Please thank the mess sergeant – I mean, the culinary specialist.”

“I'll be certain to do that, Commander.” Barrett poured the coffee and set a dish of sugar and cream packets next to her desk lamp. “Enjoy.”

“I will.” Steph sat down, mouth watering at the thought of a simple, well balanced meal. When was the last time she'd had something that wasn't either stale junk from a vending machine or the delicious but heavy gourmet treats Pete kept sending her? “Thank you, Barrett. This is exactly what I needed.”

“You're most welcome, Commander.” He inclined his head an inch or two, and Steph couldn't help thinking of all the times Jarvis had brought her a tray when she'd dragged herself in late. “Simply leave the tray outside your door and I'll see to it.”

The door had scarcely slid back into place before she'd taken her first bite. It was the military equivalent of what her mother had called “good plain cooking,” no question of that, but the meat was properly broiled, the vegetables were fresh, and the coffee was the right temperature. Even the whipped topping on the pie was actual cream, not the usual non-dairy glop that Steph had forced herself to swallow more times than she could count.

Dreamless sleep, wholesome food, a little peace and quiet, a second cup of coffee – it had always been enough to recharge her batteries, and today was no exception. Steph sighed in contentment as she set her mug down and rubbed at her eyes. She was still tired, serum or no serum, but the drained, bone-weary exhaustion that had dogged her was gone. 

Even better, she still had twenty precious minutes before she was due back in the ward room to witness a local dignitary smack _Argonaut_ with a bottle of champagne. There wasn't enough time for a run or even a brisk walk on the flight deck, but maybe she could get in a chapter or two on _Shadows Return_ and - 

_B-deet-deet-deet._

_B-deet-deet-deet._

_B-deet-_

Steph froze in the act of pulling out her chosen book. Hill had cleared her schedule for a reason, which meant this was a true emergency. Were they close enough to Latveria that Doom had lodged a formal complaint? Was Reed right about the Skrulls? Had something blown up in Asia? 

Was Tony - 

No. _No_. Maria Hill had been one of Tony's closest allies during her tenure at SHIELD. There was no way in the world she would delivered that particular bit of news except in person.

Which meant it was something else, thank God. 

Steph shoved her book back into place, raked her fingers through her hair, and hit the _receive_ key on the desktop communicator. “Rogers.”

“Commander?” Hill's face appeared as the screen flared to life. She was a bit paler than usual but otherwise her normal brisk self. “Normally I wouldn't disturb you, but Captain America is on the other line. He insists on speaking to you directly rather than leaving a message.”

Steph gave her a quick nod. Bucky's last check-in had included the news that one of his Soviet-era contacts had heard rumors of a less than scrupulous art dealer setting up shop near the Latverian frontier. 

“Nat thinks it's nothing, but this guy wasn't in her network. I'm doing to do some digging and see what I turn up. I'll be in touch when I have news,” he'd said, and ended the call before a non-SHIELD listening post could get a lock on his stream. 

That had been two days ago. Could his hunch have paid off? “Put him through.”

“Understood,” said Hill, and a second later Bucky, in a nondescript jacket and sweater, had replaced her on screen. There was a half-healed scratch on one cheek, but otherwise he looked alert, intent, and best of all, intact.

“Buck? Where are you? Tell me the good news,” she said.

“About ten klicks from Latveria, and the news may not be all that good..” Bucky blew out a breath and paused as a police siren screamed in the distance. He was in a bedroom of some sort, and seemed to be alone. “I don't have all the answers – Nat's due back any time now and she might know more. But it looks like Yuriy was onto something.”

“The ampulla?”

“If only it was just that.” Bucky hit a key on an unseen keyboard, and Steph's computer chimed as his transmission hit her inbox. “Quick and dirty version: it looks like the ampulla and oil were stolen about a year ago by a group calling itself Die KinderSchmidt. They'd somehow gotten hold of the MFAA decoys and switched them out while the museum was closed for New Years.”

“Die KinderSchmidt - 'The Children of Schmidt.'” Steph hissed softly as the implications of the name sank in. “Hydra?”

Bucky made a face. “Possible, but more likely a splinter cell. Madam Hydra picked a fight with Doom six months ago and hasn't come any closer to Latveria than Strelsau since the spring. She's crazy but she's not dumb enough to challenge Doom so close to his home turf.”

“Not many people are,” Steph murmured. “What about the ampulla? Could this offshoot have allied themselves with Dr. Doom?”

“Not as far as anyone knows, and believe me, Yuriy would.” Bucky absently rubbed at the mark on his cheek with his left hand. Fortunately he was wearing a glove. “Besides, why would Doom need the damn thing? He's got a choke hold on Latveria already. Unless he's thinking of kidnapping Sue Richards and making her his consort, he needs to be anointed like he needs a hole in the head.”

“So - “

“So if Yuriy's right, which he usually is, Die KinderSchmidt's reportedly holed up in a castle right on the Latverian border with Austria, place called Schloss Hexenkreuz. It was one of Mother Night's command centers but hasn't been used in a couple of years.”

Steph didn't ask how many years – Bucky still wouldn't talk about most of his missions for the KGB or Kronas, including that last rampage as the Winter Soldier – but she could guess. “Your buddy have any idea what they're doing there?”

“Just rumors. Like I said, Nat will know more - “

“Give me what you have.” Steph ran her teeth across her lower lip, then said what she scarcely dared admit, even to herself. “She doesn't have much time, Buck. Even scraps are better than nothing.”

“I was afraid you'd say that.” Bucky pulled off the glove and tapped his metal fingers on what sounded like a wooden table of some sort. “Like I said, this is just rumor. But according to one of Yuriy's people, one of 'em looks an awful lot like Max Lohmer, the new Master Man.”

“Lohmer? I thought the MAD grabbed him last month and shoved him into Spandau.”

“So did everyone else.” Bucky hesitated, then hit another key on his computer. Steph's inbox chimed seconds later. “That's not all. A man and a woman calling themselves 'Mr. and Mrs. Kovacs' showed up in Hexenkreutz a few days ago. I just shot you their picture. Take a look and tell me if I'm going crazy.” 

It only took a moment for Steph to find and open the file. It was larger than she'd expected, and she pursed her lips as the grainy photo took its sweet time loading. “Who took this, Interpol? Austrian intelligence?”

“Nat. You wouldn't believe how good she is at blending in, even with that hair.” Bucky smiled, just for a moment. “There's not much detail, but - “

“Oh good God. Are you kidding me?” Steph cursed under her breath as the image resolved to show a blocky, blunt featured man in jeans, a windbreaker, and heavy soled boots standing on the sidewalk of a charming medieval village. The outline of a small automatic, probably a baby Glock, was visible in the right pocket of the windbreaker. He looked completely out of place next to a kiosk selling postcards, street maps, and cheap souvenir t-shirts, and the part of Steph's brain that never stopped analyzing her surroundings wondered how Brock Rumlow had managed to escape the carnage in Washington and get to Central Europe without a single intelligence agency noticing. 

“Crossbones? The hell, Bucky? Why didn't we hear about this?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” said her cousin. “Gets worse, too. Take a squint at who he's with.”

Steph leaned closer to the screen, eyes narrowing as she made out the dim outline of Rumlow's companion. It was a woman, slim but big-chested, in a belted coat of some dark, shiny material. She wore a wide-brimmed felt hat pulled low enough on her forehead to shield all but a few wisps of stiffly curled dark hair. “Who is that, his girlfriend? I thought he was with Sin.”

“Hold on.” Another image appeared on the screen. This one had been taken from across the street, not on a building, and whatever camera Natasha had used had been good enough to pick up the details of her face.

Or what was left of it.

“No. Dear sweet mother of God, _no_.” Steph almost forgot how to breathe as she took in the hideous web of scars that covered every inch of the woman's brow and cheeks and chin. She still had eyelashes, barely, and her lips and eyelids were still there, but the rest - 

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “I was hoping I was wrong.”

Steph could only shake her head as she stared into the eyes of Sinthia Schmidt. 

Johann Schmidt's only child. 

The new Red Skull. 

“You're not wrong.” Steph managed at last. “God help us all, you're not.”

Neither spoke for a long, long moment. Finally Bucky broke the silence. “What do we do now, Steph?”

Steph clenched her right fist hard enough to hurt. “Get Natasha and contact the station chief in Prague. Tell her we'll need everything she has on Schloss Hexenkreutz, plus a STRIKE team. We're not letting any of them get past us this time.”

“We?”

“The rest of the team,” said Steph. The plan was already forming in her head, details filling in as she mentally chose and rejected one person after another. “It's time for the Avengers to reassemble.”


	9. Chapter 8

_From the memory banks of Antonia Edwina Stark [deleted]_

_I could kill Fury._

_Just._

_Kill._

_Him._

_He knows Steph and I have been on the outs, have barely spoken in weeks. She’s so damn self-righteous, so old-fashioned, so – so - infuriating I can’t work with her anymore. Not now, maybe not ever again unless Ultron or the Kree show up, and even then I’m not sure I can take orders from her. _

_Fury knows all this._

_He knows. _

_And he still sent Dum-Dum Dugan to track me down, recruited Steph personally, and set us hunting the same group. “D.A.N.T.E.” it’s called, not that anyone’s ever heard of them before even though they’re supposed to be taking down airplanes and getting ready to attack the President. If they hadn’t been using my tech I’d almost suspect the old bastard of making the whole thing up._

_Steph thinks the same thing._

_Oh, she didn’t say so. But one look in those blue, blue eyes of hers and I knew –_

_God, those eyes. They’re like clear water, can’t hide a thing and never could. How the hell did she ever work undercover? She’s as transparent as it comes._

_At least to me._

_At least she was, before –_

_Before -_

_Now we’re stuck working with each other. Me, the recovering alcoholic, recovering arms dealer, the “dyke everyone needs to watch out for” or so that columnist for Scaife’s rag in Pittsburgh so sweetly put it – I’m everything America shouldn’t be and is, and thanks to SHIELD I’m partnered with someone who’s clean and pure and so damn good - _

_She’s so sure of herself and her ideals. So strong. She’s everything America is supposed to be and isn’t, the last champion of what we fought and bled and died for sixty years ago. Even now she puts herself on the line for the country and the world, never mind that we’ve fallen short of those lofty words about “more perfect unions” and “inalienable rights.”_

_How she can stand to be in the same room with me I’ll never know._

_The Mother of Democracy and the Merchant of Death. Oil and water, past and future, pure and tainted – we never should have worked as friends, as Avengers. Not for a minute._

_She’s so damn beautiful. So –_

_So -_

_Everything I wish I were._

_Everything I’ll never be._

_Christ almighty, I could kill Fury –_

_[file ends]_

 

Reassembling the Avengers was easier said than done.

Sam was in, no questions asked. “You really think I'd let you go chasing Crossbones and Sin by yourself?” she'd said, then made one of those little _mm-mm-mm_ noises that meant _just try doing this without me and I'll show you what's what_ and started to pack.

Carol was equally firm once she'd gotten it through her head that no, Steph wasn't angry that she'd supported the SHRA. “Tony kept me from drinking myself to death. Whatever you need, it's yours whether you like it or not.”

Others weren't in a position to drop everything for a snatch-and-grab in Latveria that could turn into an international incident if Victor von Doom got wind of their presence. Luke and Jessica had their daughter to consider, never mind that neither of them had much experience in military-style ops. Ditto Peter, who was still reeling from some unspecified loss and barely would let his aunt out of his sight. 

Logan was willing – he hated Hydra, root and branch, almost as much as Steph did – but his visa situation was dicey enough that there was a real chance he wouldn't be allowed to re-enter the United States. “You know I would if I could,” he'd told Steph in between puffs of one of ever-present stogies when she'd made a personal visit to Westchester to plead her case. “We go back too far for me to say 'no' without a damn good reason, but if Harper actually tries to extradite me - ”

“I'm a governmental official. I can contact Ottawa, call in some favors,” Steph had said, even though she knew it was hopeless. 

Logan had heaved a sigh and stubbed out the cigar in something that might have been the cast of a dinosaur track from the Savage Land. “A couple of the horsemen have had it in for me since before Stark unthawed you, Steph. You're better off keeping your powder dry unless you want the biggest shit storm since we burned DC on your hands.”

“Not really. Quick and quiet is more like it,” Steph had said, and neither had uttered a word until Logan had pulled out a bottle of what claimed to be whiskey and poured them both a shot. The alcohol had smelled like paint thinner and tasted worse, but Steph had been grateful for its harsh, steadying burn, even if only lasted long enough to brace her for the next rejection.

Most of the community hadn't been as polite, or as ready to help. Steph had known better than to ask Hank Pym – she'd seen the video of his meltdown at Jan's funeral – but there were enough unanswered messages and excuses about needing to go out of town/track down a mortal enemy/clean the cat box/launder the supersuit that she'd finally given up. Tony had clearly burned too many bridges this time to be easily forgiven.

“You can only ask so much of people, love,” Pete had murmured, rubbing her rigid shoulders after a particularly tense call to someone who by rights should have been the first in line. “If you want me to call Brian and Meggan - “

“Let them be, Pete. They've been through enough,” she'd said, and let the warmth of his touch soothe her long enough that she'd managed a few precious hours of sleep.

Now she stood less than a mile from the gates of Schloss Hexenkreuz, Bucky on her right, Pete on her left. Carol floated overhead, Sam and Redwing gliding just below her, all poised to attack on Steph's mark. STRIKE Epsilon, in full tactical gear, had fanned out around the grounds to cover the exits in case Crossbones or Sin made a break for it. 

It was a pitifully small excuse for an attack force, even with Ms. Marvel's strength and speed. But it was all Steph had, and it would have to do.

“How much longer?” Pete murmured, his breath white in the cold mountain air. There was no moon, only the autumn stars, and the SHIELD-issue body armor she'd forced him to wear made him all but invisible. “Romanoff should have checked in by now. If she managed to get herself captured - ”

“Nat can take of herself,” Bucky shot back before Steph could reply. He glared at Pete, whose nostrils flared slightly in return. “She'll eat them alive if they're dumb enough to try.”

“I'm sure she can, but one woman against that many, even one like the Black Widow - “

“Jesus, Wisdom. You of all people should know better than - “

“Can it, both of you!” Steph waited for them to shut up, then tapped her comm link. “Widow, this is SHIELD One. Report.”

_”They want to do what?” Steph nearly snapped her pen as Bucky finished. Johnson, sitting next to her at the conference table, looked ready to vomit. “Breeding a super soldier? Even for Hydra that's over the top.”_

_Bucky made a face. He was in a different, somewhat less seedy hotel room, and moved with the slight stiffness that meant he wore his uniform under a bulky woolie-pullie and loosely cut jeans. “Take it up with the Widow. She's all but certain that's what they're planning for the night of the new moon. That's why Master Man is there, to be the stud, and if she's right Crossbones is jealous enough to castrate the little punk with a rusty spoon.”_

_“Mother and country, that's warped.” Steph turned to Johnson, who had drunk most of her water in a single desperate gulp. “You have Sin's file, Is she even capable of conceiving? Her medical history was a mess even before HAMMER captured her, let alone after nearly being burned to death.”_

_Johnson shoved her glass aside and flipped through a paper file. “It's hard to tell,” she said at last. “Biologically she started out baseline human, but she's been powered, depowered, aged up and down, and injured so many times the docs can't say. We do know she was sleeping with Crossbones for nearly a year without protection and didn't get pregnant, but he could have used condoms. We simply don't know.”_

_She swallowed and set down the file. “Same goes for Max Lohmer, aka Master Man. Erskine's formula doesn't alter male fertility, but who knows what Kronas used to enhance him? He could be fine, or he could shooting blanks. There's no way to tell.”_

_Bucky cleared his throat. “I hate to bring this up, but isn't that oil supposed to enhance female fertility? As long as Sin hasn't had a hysterectomy - “_

_“Which she hasn't,” said John, looking sick again as she shuffled through Sinthia Schmidt's medical history._

_“ - shouldn't the oil be enough to make sure she gets pregnant?”_

 

“This is Black Widow, SHIELD One,” said Natasha, the words soft but clear. “I'm in a gallery overlooking the main courtyard, about fifteen feet up. You in position?”

“Affirmative. Sitrep?”

“No sign of Sin most of the day, ditto Master Man. Crossbones seems to be charge of whatever they have in mind.” There was a faint scraping sound as Natasha's uniform brushed against stone and plaster. “Right now he's out in the castle courtyard with a couple of unknowns, laying out a luminescent substance in a geometric pattern. Five points, each a different color - “

“Five points? That sounds like a star.” Steph waved Bucky and Pete closer, even though they were all on the same comm channel. 

“More like a pentagram if all the candles they're bringing out is any clue – hold on, someone else just showed up.”

“Identity?”

“Too far and too dark to be certain, but he's dressed a lot like Stephen Strange only with swastikas instead of mystic sigils.” There was a faint crackle as Natasha's bracelets powered up. “Looks like my hunch about a ritual of some sort wasn't far off.”

Bucky gave Pete a distinctly smug grin. “I told you she'd come through.”

Pete groaned. “My uncle warned me you were an annoying little - “

“Numbers?” Steph snapped before the argument could escalate. Bucky had clashed with Pete's uncle during the war, but Bucky hadn't exactly gotten along with Namor either. “Enhanced, normal?”

“Normal, about twenty hired guns with conventional weaponry. STRIKE Epsilon shouldn't have any problems keeping them in line if any of them get past us, which they won't.” Natasha shifted in place again. “They've also brought a couple of specialists with energy weapons.”

“Sounds like fun,” came Carol's voice. What might have passed for a shooting star shone overhead for an instant as she gained a bit more altitude. “I call dibs.”

“As long as you get that oil to New York once we're finished, have fun,” said Steph. She did not allow herself to smile as the shooting star did a tiny loop-the-loop. “What about enhanced? Crossbones doesn't count, as much as he'd like to think he does.”

“Two at most. The priest may or may not be an actual adept, but we should assume he is unless proven otherwise. Max Lohmer's been sequestered in the chapel most of the day, supposedly praying, and I haven't been able to get near him. The residential areas are locked down tight, chapel included.”

Which meant no chance at getting the oil - _if they have it, this could be another wild goose chase, of course they have it, would they be going to this trouble if they didn't -_ \- until the actual ritual began. “Anyone else? Techs, servants, mercs?”

“One or two non-combatants, including a cook who's been cooking gourmet meals for   
Sin and Lohmer. It looks wonderful, too – oysters, hothouse asparagus, fresh berries with chocolate, that sort of thing.”

“Oysters? Since when does Sin eat that glop?” said Bucky. “It was all Domino's, Chinese takeout, and supersized McChicken when she and Rumlow went on their hell ride a couple of years ago. I don't get it.”

“It's not important,” said Steph, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. He had the palate of a dockworker despite the best efforts of Steph, Natasha, Jarvis, and God only knew how many others. “Widow? How much longer?”

A soft, droning pulse started up in the courtyard below. Natasha inhaled, sharp and quick. “I'd say right about now. The doors into the main building are opening up and a few minions have started to come out.”

“Carol? Sam?” Steph looked up at the sky. “We need a lift.”

“On it,” came the soft reply as first Carol and then Sam dove toward them. Carol, stronger and faster, snatched Bucky up and flew straight to the roof while Sam was still gliding down for Steph. 

“What about me?” said Pete, shaking his hair out of his face. “You might need backup and - “

“Per our briefings, you're here to observe only,” said Steph, biting back a less than polite crack about paying attention to the battle plan instead of gazing at the mission leader long enough that her assistants had noticed. He'd been restive on the flight over, too, pacing and rubbing his arms, and during the hike up to the castle. Had he let his patch run out again? “Engage only if someone tries to get out over the drawbridge, otherwise let STRIKE handle it. You're the most vulnerable member of the team from a physical standpoint and - ”

“I'm not as bloody useless as you think I am, Stephanie,” he growled, and just as Sam glided into range, he set his jaw, seized Steph by the shoulders, and yanked her down into a kiss that would have left a normal woman with bruises. “Don't forget that.”

Steph staggered backwards, holding up an arm for Sam by sheer reflex. A second later came the familiar jerk, and they were soaring upwards the way they had a thousands times before. “What the - “

“Never thought I'd have to say this to _you_ , girl, but whatever's going on between you and that man, it's gotta wait till the mission's over.” Sam swung her up and onto the roof next to Bucky. “This ain't the time or the place.”

Bucky raised one eyebrow high enough that it disappeared under his mask. Steph shook her head. Pete had been out of line, way out of line, but Sam was right. Addressing it would have to wait. “Buck? Ready?”

“Oh yeah.” He slung the shield onto his left arm, unholstered his automatic, and started for a sliver of light in the slates. The sliver became a rectangle as Natasha, flaming hair dyed an incongruous brown, opened it all the way. “Let's do it.”

“No argument from me,” said Sam, and took off to join Carol in the skies. Steph checked the charge on the hard-light shield and followed Bucky across the roof.

Natasha had made a surprisingly cozy little observation nest from a couple of old blankets and a slightly moth-eaten pallet. The team had scarcely settled in when the priest, or magician, or whatever he was, raised his hands and began chanting tonelessly in something close enough to the old Latin mass that Steph was surprised he didn't ring a bell and elevate a Host. 

He paused, robes shining dully in the starlight, then stepped into the middle of the pentagram, lit an incense burner with a snap of his fingers, and carefully censed all five points of the star as the sickle moon rose above the castle walls. There was another chant as he scattered handfuls of rice and rose petals and what were probably magical herbs about the central pentagon, then a gong struck five times as he censed a bowl of water and a bundle of palm fronds, then yet _another_ chant - 

“Are they ever actually gonna do anything?” Bucky whispered. “Jesus, this is worse than than church when I was a kid?”

“James,” Natasha chided., stroking his human arm. “Be patient.”

“I am being - “

“Heads up, Buckycap,” said Carol. She and Sam had taken cover near a chimney pot during the preparations, but now she flew soundlessly out over the courtyard, flowing hair silver-white under the stars. “Show time.”

The chanting had started up again, this time in German. Two doors opened on opposite sides of the courtyard, and two robed figures emerged and began to walk toward the pentagram in perfect time to the rise and fall of the words. 

Steph leaned forward, pulse quickening as she identified them. One, huge and blond and sneering, was Max Lohmer, the street rat Alexander Lukin and Johann Schmidt had chosen as the new Master Man. His version of the serum had been close enough to his uncle's old formula that he had most of the same abilities, but underneath the muscles and the speed he was still an ignorant thug. 

The other, slender and bald and horribly scarred, was clearly Johann Schmidt's only child. She'd been a pretty child if SHIELD's files were accurate, then briefly a beautiful woman. Her looks had faded a bit thanks to the physical manipulations she'd undergone, but even then she'd been handsome enough if you liked your girls with a mean streak.

But now - 

No one in the gallery spoke as the two mates stepped into the star pattern, unbelted their robes, and stripped to the skin. The chanting faltered slightly as the officiant got a good look at the heavy scars covering Sin's face and neck and shoulders, but whatever he saw in her eyes was enough for him to take a breath, dip the fronds into the bowl and began flicking the purified water first over Sin's breasts and belly and sex, then Lohmer's chest and genitals.

_Show time._

“Epsilon leader?” Steph murmured. 

“In position, Director.”

Sin held out her hands toward Lohmer, jaw tight, body tense. Was this her idea at all? Or yet another plan of her father's she felt compelled to carry out?

“Ms. Marvel?”

“Ready, willing, and able.”

Lohmer, expression halfway between lust and terror, took Sin's hands in his own huge ones. The priest flicked more water onto his crotch, and he made a high, pained sound.

“Falcon?”

“This is me, Steph. You really need to ask?”

A third door opened, and Crossbones stalked out onto the cobblestones. He held a metal tray out in front of him, and even from nearly two stories the gleam of precious stones from a tiny gold vessel and matching jar were unmistakable. 

“Bucky? Natasha?”

Natasha smiled, slow and deadly. Bucky snorted. “Like Sam said. You need to ask?”

“Good.” Steph raised her right hand, braced one foot on the railing and tensed herself to leap. “On my mark. One - “

Crossbones handed the ampulla and the ointment jar to the priest and stepped back out of the star. His back was stick-straight, and even behind the mask it was clear that he could not bring himself to look at his old lover as she prepared to join with another man.

“ - two - “

The priest poured the oil into the ampulla, shook it gently, then poured a few drops onto Lohmer's loins. He gasped, back arching, eyes open wide as his penis came erect so fast that Bucky winced in sympathy.

“ - three - “

Sin's hands tightened on Lohmer's as the priest raised the ampulla and poured yet more oil onto the fingers of his right hand. He traced a symbol in the air, then drew the same mark around her navel. 

“ - now - “

Carol streaked down from the sky, fists glowing as she aimed a blast at the priest. He managed to yell out a warning, then proved he was more than a bad singer by knocking her off-course as a burst of concussive force erupted from the hand that had anointed Sin.   
Bucky leaped, landed with a quick roll to bleed off the force of the impact, then charged straight for Crossbones, shield arcing across the courtyard at the perfect speed to send him tumbling across the worn cobbles without breaking him in half. Natasha took out two mercenaries with a couple of well-placed shocks, while Redwing dive-bombed Lohmer, beak snapping and claws raking new scars on his face as he tried to stay on his feet despite his arousal.

Sin froze for the barest of instants, then snatched the ampulla from the priest's hand, screamed something in German, and bolted for the nearest door. Steph smashed a goon aside with a strike from the photonic shield and tore after her. The ointment jar was still on the tray and hadn't been touched, but it needed the right vessel to work.

“Give it up, Schmidt! SHIELD has the castle surrounded!”

Sin dodged a slashing blow from Natasha, backhanded her hard enough to send her reeling into Bucky, and somersaulted across the courtyard. She was nearly at the door when she bent, grabbed a pistol someone had dropped, and whirled, ruined face even more hideous with rage. “You again! Why didn't you stay dead?“

“Why didn't you stay out of the family business?.” Steph tensed as a spray of bullets ricocheted off the light shield, then lunged forward. “A super baby, Sin? With a moron like _Lohmer_? That's your end game? Seriously?”

“Babies aren't an 'end game,' Rogers.” Sin, oil gleaming on her bare belly, dodged a blow and raised the ampulla on high. Her teeth were even whiter than her father's. “They're a beginning, not that someone like _you_ would know that. New life, new chances - “

“Like the life your father planned for you? A living weapon?” There was a boom from the main gates, and a blast of heat and light. Steph snapped out an order to Epsilon leader to seal the castle tight, _no escapees this time, damn it!_ and drew her stun gun. “A broodmare? Is that all you're good for, doing what Daddy said?”

“Better a broodmare than a mule like you!” Sin pressed the barrel of her gun directly against the ampulla and thumbed the safety off. What was left of her lips crooked upwards in a ghastly attempt at a smile. “Is that why you want this? So you can have a nice little family of your own? It's hard to have that when your serum makes you sterile!”

_A church, a white gown, a child on the way -_

There was a yowl from behind them. Lohmer, clutching his genitals, shrieked and flew sideways as Carol connected with a hard, angry right to the jaw. Steph deflected a charge on her three from a mercenary with more guts than brains, then deactivated the light shield and turned to face Sin. A gust of wind loosened her braid, and she brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek without once taking her eyes from the daughter of her oldest enemy. 

_A lush garden, sun-warmed skin, a partner turned lover -_

“That oil isn't for me. Not now, not ever.” Her voice rang out above the chaos of battle as Hydra and SHIELD clashed once again in a war that never seemed to end. “I'm a worker bee, not a queen. What are you babbling about, Sin? Or are you trying to justify this for yourself?”

“Justify? I have nothing to justify!” Sin shook her head, breath suddenly coming in pants. “Lying bitch, Father showed me the film. You were knitting a sweater for your boyfriend at the front, you couldn't wait for peace so you could get married and - “

Steph fought back a sudden, maddening urge to laugh. Was the Red Skull really that blind? Was Sin? “Oh, for the love of – _Miss America's Dream of Home_ was a propaganda film. It wasn't real.”

“Wasn't - “ Sin scrambled backwards as Steph, stun gun loosely dangling from one hand, calmedly walked toward her. “I saw the movie. I _saw_ it!“

“Sin. I was in North Africa when they filmed it, not California.” This time Steph did laugh, as much from surprise as amusement. Was this all because the Motion Picture Unit had wanted to make Steph look like an regular girl who couldn't wait to get back to the kitchen once the shooting stopped? “They didn't even release it until after the war because I was in active combat by the time they finished. What are you talking about?”

“You – you - “ Sin's voice and hands began to shake as she backed into the wall of the main castle. Her skin was blue-white in the cold, clear air. “But Father said – it was the truth, the rest was - “

“Your father was an idiot, sweetie, and not just because he couldn't tell the difference between Steph and Carole Landis,” said Bucky, emerging from the fight to take his place at Steph's side. He was breathless, bruised, and looked happier than Steph had seen him in weeks. “I was there, remember? Steph was my babysitter and trust me, being a wife and mother is the last thing she ever wanted, even before - “

“You're lying! All of you!” screamed Sin, and shoved the gun barrel against the ampulla hard enough that a tiny spinel broke free from the male spout. “You want this, I _know_ you do! Romanoff 's no better - “

“As _if_ , you crazy - “

“ - but only I have it!” Sin shrieked. She tossed the ampulla into the air and took aim. “And if I can't use it, no one can!”

Steph threw herself forward with a yell, barely hearing Bucky's echoing cry as he drew back the shield to throw. It was too late, even she couldn't move fast enough to catch the ampulla or stop Sin from firing, but she had to try to, Tony was dying, they couldn't wait any longer - 

_\- if she dies it's my fault mine mine mine -_

A jet of fire shot across the courtyard to strike the gun in Sin's hand. She shrieked and threw the glowing weapon through the nearest window, fingers already turning red, then black. The ampulla clattered to the ground, a couple more gems coming loose as it hit the cold dark stone. A lean, slightly awkward figure dashed forward to claim it before any of the precious, precious oil could drizzle out and be lost forever.

Steph gaped as Pete Wisdom, left hand fading from cherry-red to its normal tone, held up the ampulla. “I told you it was a good idea to bring me along.”


	10. Chapter 9

_Letter from Stephanie Rogers to James B. Barnes, found in Barnes’ footlocker after V-E Day and archived in the Captain America collection at the Smithsonian Institution._

_[date redacted]_

_Dear Bucky,_

_~~Thanks for your last letter. It sounds like you and Becca are doing okay. Tell her I’m sending her that yarn she asked for and –~~ _

_~~I’m not sure how to put this, but I –~~ _

_~~In case I don’t make it, I want you and your sister to -~~ _

_I shouldn’t be writing this. Especially to a ~~kid~~ civilian. We were always close, though, and I wanted someone to know what happened in case I don’t make it._

_Remember how I told you that I was working for the Army as a medical illustrator? Well, that wasn’t the truth, at least not the whole truth. I’ve been working as part of a top secret experiment…._

_[redacted for details of Project Rebirth]_

_…final test tomorrow morning, and that’s why I’m writing to you. Originally it was going to be Private Paxton, but he broke his ankle on the obstacle course and is still in the infirmary. The rest of the platoon was given leave so the base would be clear in case something went wrong when they fired up the Vita-Rays. There was no else who was young enough ~~and crazy enough~~ for the test, so I told Dr. Reinstein he could test it on me to see if it worked before he gave it to anyone else._

_He tried to talk me out of it – something about girls and fighting, like women haven't already been doing our share without getting any of the credit – but you know how I get when I dig in my heels. He finally said yes, then we both went to talk to General Phillips. The General isn’t one bit pleased, but after I asked if he’d say the same thing if my name were Steve, not Stephanie, he got really quiet and then said he wished the men had half my guts. I just looked him in the eye and said I wasn’t taking no for an answer, that even if it didn’t work ~~or worse~~ on me, at least this way they could start over once Private Paxton could walk again._

_That was it. The General said he’d never met anyone as stubborn as I am, then he said on my head be it and walked out. Dr. Reinstein took me back to the barracks and had me sign all the paperwork ~~including my will, you and Becca get everything if I don't -~~. By this time tomorrow I’ll either be a new woman or ~~gone~~ Dr. Reinstein will be back to work on the serum. Either way things are going to be a lot different and I’m pretty nervous about what might happen ~~even if this might make me normal, not an inv -~~. _

_I’m mailing this out tonight before they know I’m sending it. Don’t tell anyone, including Major Samson. This is really, really important, Buck. It could mean the difference for us and a lot of other people over in Europe._

_Give Becca a kiss for me, and remember you’re my favorite cousin. Take care of yourself, and no getting into trouble. Promise?_

_Love always –_

_Steph_

 

The heavy bag jerked upwards, hanging in midair for half a second before it dropped toward the ground. Steph slammed her fist into it, too angry for the pain of yet another split knuckle to register. The chain groaned like a live thing as the bag rebounded high enough to graze a support beam from the force of the blow.

_“He won't give us any trouble, Director.” Epsilon Leader hefted his rifle and watched as the priest was carried into the plane. He'd turned out to be a former skinhead from Idaho with a long, ugly history in racist groups before Die Kinderschmidt had recruited him and found he was a mutant. “We know how to handle his type.”_

_“I have every confidence in you.” Steph glanced over at Sin, who was sneering in disgust as Crossbones and Master Man screamed insults at each other. Someone had found a jumpsuit in her size, thank God. “What about those three?”_

_“AD Hill is en route to Prague with a team from the Raft. Trust me, they're not getting away this time.”_

_“See that they don't,” Steph said, and stepped back to watch the transport depart in a soft whoosh of displaced air._

She dodged the bag as it swung toward her, lashing a kick into the sweaty leather as it whistled past. The gauze wrapped about her fists was striped with blood from her battered hands.

“Damn it, damn it, damnitdamnidamnit goddamn it to hell- “

_”This is Dr. Foster.”_

_Steph watched Carol accelerate until she was nothing more than a streak of light against the autumn stars. “Dr. Foster? This is Ms. Grant from Speedy Delivery central dispatch. I'm pleased to inform you that your package is en route. It should arrive within the hour.”_

_There was a crackle of static that couldn't quite mask a sharp intake of breath. “I'm very glad to hear that, Ms. Grant. We can't start the party without it.”_

_“Our apologies for the delays. Please let us know if you need anything else.”_

_“We'll do that.” Jane sounded a decade younger. “I'll contact the other guests. We should be ready by the time the package arrives. Thank you so much for taking the time to call.”_

_“The pleasure's all mine.” Steph bowed her head in acknowledgment as Bucky, cowl off, shield on his back, gave her the all-clear from the cargo hatch of the Quinjet. “Let us know when it arrives.”_

_“I'll do that,” said Jane. “Please feel free to drop by for the after-party party if you have time. It should be a good one.”_

_“Let's hope,” said Steph, and ended the call._

 

Her braid came loose as she bobbed and weaved and kicked and punched, the heavy weight smacking against her neck in rhythm to her blows. Her mouth was dry enough to hurt, her stomach aching despite the MRE she'd forced herself to eat a few hours ago when her blood sugar crashed. 

They'd been so close. So close - 

 

_”Okay, Rogers. Spill.” Sam climbed into the co-pilot's seat as Steph set the Quinjet's course for New York. Her hands smelled of the wet wipes she'd used to clean up after feeding Redwing an unusually plump mouse._

_“Spill about what?” The Quinjet was as close to pilot-optional as technology allowed, but that didn't mean Steph could ignore all the usual pre-flight checks for chitchat._

_Sam snorted. “Come on, girl. This is me, remember? Best friend who isn't your cousin or Tony? You know exactly what I'm talking about, and it starts with a 'p' and ends with an - “_

_Steph glanced over her shoulder long enough to reassure herself that Pete was nowhere in earshot. “This isn't really the place or the time, Sam. When we're home - “_

_“It could be too late by then if you keep letting that man get under your skin.” Sam reached behind them and quietly shut the cockpit door. “He wants more than you can give, doesn't he?”_

_“What makes you think - “_

_“I'm not blind, Steph. I watched the last time you and Pete went down in flames, and the time before that, and the time before that.” Sam pulled her dreads loose from the elastic she used to control them during flight and sighed in relief as the pull on her scalp eased. “You go off your feed every single time Pete comes sniffing around, and that includes tonight.”_

_Steph slumped back against the headrest and stared up at the instruments on the cockpit ceiling. “That obvious, huh?”_

_“To me, yeah, and Bucky, too, at least if he knows you half as well as he thinks he does,” said Sam. Her voice softened a trifle as Steph worked her shoulders against the firmly padded seat. “What's going on, hon?”_

_“I'm not sure.” The in-board computers had taken over the plane as they reached cruising altitude and the cloaking software activated. The clouds whipping past the windshield shouldn't have made a shiver run up Steph's spine. “He wants me back, Sam. He wants me bad - “_

_“When doesn't he?”_

_“ - but normally he doesn't act like – like - “_

_Steph rubbed her arms. The cockpit was heated. Why was she so damn cold?_

_“Like you're his property, not his lover?”_

_Steph slowly turned to face her old partner. Sam had always been frighteningly good at reading her moods. “Something like that.”_

_“Mm, mm, mm.” Sam shook her head. “That's not good, Steph. Not good at all.”_

_“I know,” said Steph. Her lips were still sore from that angry, bruising kiss. “I just have to figure out a way to tell him without provoking an international incident.“_

_“Like one spy getting pissed over being dumped is going to do that.” Sam snorted again. “Look. Normally you're a lot smarter than this so I keep my mouth shut. But it's time someone reminded you to think of yourself once in a while.”_

_“It's not that simple. We have a history - “_

_“You got a history with Johann Schmidt, too.” Sam fixed her with the same level stare that Redwing used on prey. “Forget what Pete wants, or what the two of you had back in the day. What do you want now, Steph? Not him, not your friends, you - “_

 

“Why couldn't you wait?” Steph grabbed the bag as it swung past, dug her fingers into the seams and pressed her forehead to the worn EVERLAST logo. “One hour. One – damn – hour - “

Her eyes stung from sweat and the tears she would not let herself shed. Later, when it was over, when she was alone and didn't have to listen to her friends tell her that it wasn't her fault, then she could let go. But not now.

Not yet. 

 

_”Reed did what?”_

_Pepper, eyes swollen, face blotchy, shook her head. “I tried to stop him, Steph. Jane tried, we all did - “_

_She turned away from the video feed, too upset to speak. Carol, hair a tangled mess after her race across the Atlantic, took her place. “I'm sorry, Steph, but he'd already started by the time I arrived. If I hadn't run into turbulence over Greenland - ”_

_Steph, numb, stared at the screen. Behind her Bucky started to curse, long and low and heartfelt. Pete muttered something unintelligible, turned aside, and lit a Dunhill with a snap of his fingers. “I told him no. What the hell was he thinking?”_

_“It was to save her life, or so he claimed,” Carol said. She peeled off her mask and dropped it next to an untouched cup of takeout coffee. “Her vitals were fluctuating, so Reed basically took over when Jane was calling the Sanctum Sanctorum to tell Strange I was on en route. One of the guards went for Jane right away, but it was all over by the time she actually made it back to Tony's room.”_

_Bucky leaned over Steph's shoulder, jaw working as he struggled for control. “What did he use in place of the shield? Don't tell me T'Challa just handed him a chunk of vibranium.”_

_“T'Challa? He's too busy trying to keep his marriage together.” Carol stared past the screen at what was probably a fascinating patch of drywall. “No, Reed somehow got his hands on William Burnside's old shield, the one that's mainly adamantium, and hooked it up to a portable generator he hauled over from the Baxter Building. The hard drive and Pepper's electromagnet were already at the hospital so he just - “_

_“Spit it out, Carol.” Steph flinched as Pete tried to lay a hand on her shoulder. The last thing she wanted was to be touched. “ What happened?”_

_Carol bowed her head, a lock of shining hair hanging down to frame her cheek. Her voice was thick when she finally spoke. “The substitutes weren't enough. The frequency was wrong or there wasn't enough power – Richards didn't make much sense, but it's not like I'm a supergenius cosmic explorer knowitallor whatever he calls himself these days.”_

_“You mean - “_

_Pepper stepped back into camera range as Carol turned away. “Adamantium isn't vibranium, so the power surge wasn't as even or smooth. If Thor had been here to control the electricity, or even Ororo, it might have been a different story, but Reed's equipment was never designed to work on a living human.”_

_Her voice caught. “The damage to Tony's brain – Jane's doing all she can, she really is, but – it's just a matter of time at this point, oil or no oil - ”_

 

The building shuddered slightly as a Quinjet landed twenty stories overhead. Steph breathed deep of the scents of leather and rosin and copper-tinged sweat. It was well past midnight, long after she should have been in bed. She needed to rest, needed a few precious hours to forget that tomorrow it would be over. 

That she'd have to do the unthinkable.

That she'd have to give the order to let Tony Stark die.

 

_”I will do my best to help, Stephanie, but at this point I can guarantee nothing.” Stephen Strange accepted the Hapsburg regalia with a grave shake of his head. “I must contemplate what path to take if there's to be any hope of success.”_

_“Can I ask what that means, Stephen? I'm a soldier, not a mystic.” Steph's fists clenched at her sides. “You know that.”_

_He met her gaze without blinking. “I need to meditate and ask for guidance. Only for a little while, to be sure, but if I act without thinking the consequences could be dire.”_

_“Got it.” It was hard to imagine how the situation could be much worse, but it was useless to press Stephen when he got like this. “If you need transport back to the Sanctum Sanctorum, Johnson can - “_

_“My thanks, but that won't be necessary.” He smiled gently, then waved his free hand over the damaged ampulla. The gems that had come loose during the fight in the courtyard floated back into place with the briefest flash of light. “The hospital chapel should suffice.”_

_“All right.” Steph uncurled her fingers, one by one. “I'm headed back to Central for a few hours, but if you need anything, let me know.”_

_“Of course,” he said, and vanished with the merest puff of displaced air._

_“Stephanie? Do not despair.” Lady Clea, calm and lovely, stepped forward to lay a gentle hand on Steph's arm. “If anyone can help Antonia, it is my beloved. I have no doubt of that.”_

_“I wish I had your faith.” Steph let out a shuddering breath. “If Tony dies - “_

_“Stephen is the Sorcerer Supreme.” Clea nodded in the direction of a dark-complected woman in a headscarf who stood waiting at the end of the corridor. A sword that seemed almost too heavy for her slender frame was strapped about her waist. “Dr. Hussain, bearer of Excalibur, will be at his side. What darkness can possibly stand against them?”_

_“Jane Foster said - “_

_Clea laughed, soft and somehow musical, and clasped Steph's shoulder. “Dr. Foster is a wise and skilled woman, but she does not know everything. Do not lose hope, Stephanie. Never lose hope,” she said, and followed her lover to the chapel -_

 

Steph released the punching bag and took a step backwards. The gym mat was slick with her sweat, her hair a sodden mess. As much as she wanted to continue pummeling the bag, it was time for a break.

She yanked her t-shirt over her head and mopped her face and throat and chest. Her braid was beyond hope, so she unplaited it as well as she could and finger-combed the worst of the knots as she walked over to the bench where she'd left her gym bag. There was a bottle of Gatorade in an outside compartment, room-temperature by now, but she'd drunk worse. 

“Steph? Are you all right?” Pete, Wisdom, a white paper sack in one hand, cautiously shut the door behind him. “What are you doing?”

_”Is there anything you can - “_

_“Not anymore.” Jane, eyes suspiciously bright, pulled back the privacy curtain. “Stephen still thinks there's hope, but - “_

_Steph sank into a chair beside the bed, heart beating so hard she could scarcely hear. Tony was barely breathing, even with a cannula feeding her pure oxygen. Her skin was sallow and slack, the shadows under her eyes dark and bruised. The hand Steph lifted between her own was so light and frail it could have belonged to a crone, not a woman in her prime._

_She pressed a kiss to the cool, dry palm, whispered the words she'd only realized were true after it was much too late. There would no chance to apologize, to start fresh and rebuild what they'd lost to the war._

_No garden. No sunlight. No joy as friendship became so much more._

_No love._

_Nothing but darkness, and cold, and a wound that would never, ever heal -_

 

“I'm fine, Pete. Perfectly fine.” Steph unscrewed the Gatorade and drained all but an inch in her thirst. The ache in her throat eased slightly as the sports drink did its job. “I thought you'd gone back to your hotel.”

“I couldn't sleep, either.” He smiled shyly and held up the paper bag. “Your cousin said you skipped dinner, so I found an all-night smoothie place. Strawberry-banana all right with you?”

Steph hesitated, then accepted the drink. They were still friends, first and always, even if he wouldn't like what she planned to say. “Thanks. Sorry I disappeared.”

“I wasn't surprised. A little disappointed, but not surprised.” Pete stuck one hand in the pocket of his jeans, grimaced, and scratched the back of his neck. His sweatshirt rode up enough for her to spot a fresh nicotine patch on his side. “Go on, drink. I've nowhere else to be, so take your time.”

The smoothie was a deep, almost glowing pink, with traces of fruit pulp and oval black seeds scattered throughout the mix. Steph raised an eyebrow. “I thought this was supposed to be strawberry-banana.”

“It is, mostly.” Pete gave her an apologetic smile. “I had them add some extra protein powder and a scoop of Chinese herbs that the counterman swore would put the roses in your cheeks. Perfectly harmless, at least for someone who's immune to all known allergens.”

Steph took a sip and frowned, then thrust the cup back at him. She had no problems with smoothies – Tony all but lived on them when she was in an engineering frenzy, and of course she'd taught Steph her favorite recipes – but this one had a bitter, almost oily aftertaste. “Next time don't bother with the herbs. I might be immune but I still have taste buds, you know.”

“Really? You don't like it?” Pete accepted the cup and took a sniff. “Here, you're probably tasting that orange cack you like so much. Try it again, I'm sure it's fine.”

Why was he so insistent? Had he somehow sensed what was coming? “All right,” she said after a pause that lasted long enough to be uncomfortable, took the cup back, and drank.

Pete was wrong. There wasn't the slightest hint of orange flavor or added electrolytes in the smoothie, only the slick, unpleasant heat of whatever herbs were supposed to put the roses in her cheeks. She gagged, set it down and turned around to grab for what was left of the Gatorade. “I'm sorry, Pete, but this is awful. I can't - “

“Oh, my dear Captain,” he said in a voice that was anything but loving, “but I beg to differ. You can and you most certainly will.”

She trusted him, or had once. That was the only reason she didn't react for the crucial second he needed to seize her from behind, right arm locked tight across her throat, left arm pulling her hips back against his pelvis. Both hands were warm enough to hurt.

“What – what are you doing?” Steph went rigid as he hissed, nipped hard at her neck and jaw line, and shoved her leggings down below her navel. “Cut it out, Pete. Cut it out _now_.”

“Cut what out? Don't you want this, Captain? Haven't you dreamed of it? Longed for it?” His left index finger traced a pattern across her stomach, the skin warming up and starting to tingle in its wake. He laughed, his breath gusting hot across her ear. “Don't you feel it now?”

As if on queue, she went from tired and angry to wet and clenching and so aroused she moaned without so much as a fingertip near her sex. She writhed back against him and gasped his name, every intention, every thought, lost in a wave of lust and need so strong it burned. 

_claimed_

_plowed_

_a sweet little church_

_friends and family_

_the man who'd tamed her at last_

_given her what the serum had taken away_

_planted his seed_

_new life squirming under her pretty white dress_

“No! Stop – stop, this is - _no!_ ” she gasped, and wrenched free with a desperate shove that sent them sprawling in opposite directions. Her legs shook so badly that it was all she could do to crawl toward the heavy bag. “Mother of God, what - “

“'Mother,' yes, that's the word.” Pete rolled to his feet and smiled, sharp and feral, and crooked a blazing finger in her direction. He was so hard she could see the outline of his cock through the heavy denim of his jeans. “Or, as I said in my youth, ' _mutter_.”

 _Mutter_.

Mother. 

The pattern on Sin's belly.

The slick oily lines on her own.

The bitter herbs in the drink - 

Steph dug her nails into the heavy bag and hauled herself upright by main strength, never taking her eyes from the man she'd thought she'd loved.

Oh sweet Jesus, the _oil._

Pete – or whoever was controlling his body, this was not, _could_ not, be Pete - laughed and walked almost casually toward her. “I see you've finally figured it out. Then again, you always were a clever girl, Frau Rogers. That's one of the reasons you're so very suitable for what I have in mind.”

“Schmidt,” she breathed, and how had she missed the tiny spark of red in his eyes? Had she truly been that blind? “You bastard. You _bastard_. You've had the oil all along.”

“Very good, Frau Rogers! Well done indeed!” He paused to clap his hands together once, twice, three times. “My daughter's agents took it while you were presumed dead, right under the nose of someone who idolized you. We've planned this for a very long time, you see. A very long time indeed.”

Her breath was almost as ragged as it had been when she'd needed prescription cigarettes to survive an asthma attack. “What have you done to Agent Wisdom? Was he part of your plans all along?”

“Concerned for your lover? Don't be. He's quite fine, or he will be once he's done his job and made sure that you're with child, my dear.” The voice was Pete's but the cadence, the too-precise choice of words, the sneering undertone were all too familiar. “He's been a much more congenial host than you ever were, even though he thought he'd shaken me off during your alleged demise. 

“It's been quite amusing, seeing through his eyes for such a long time. It was particularly delightful whenever he'd realize there was something wrong and try yet another remedy. Yoga, meditation, quitting smoking - ”

Steph spread her legs and kept her knees loose as she fought to stay on her feet, even though it did nothing to soothe the ache at her core. No wonder Pete's behavior had been so erratic. “So you've been inside his head all along. Is there anything left of him?”

“But of course. I'm not that much of a monster, as much as you seem to think I am,” said Schmidt. He shook Pete's hair back from his eyes. “He'll wake in a few days, as soon as we're quite sure the oil has done its work and overcome your precious serum long enough for you to fulfill a woman's true purpose. He won't remember a thing.

“Naturally he will be delighted at your happy news. What man wouldn't, especially when such a superior woman bears his child?” A grin that would have been pure joy from Pete Wisdom verged on the obscene from Johann Schmidt. “It will be just like that lovely little movie you made - “

“The one you showed Sin? You actually believed that junk?” Steph pulled her leggings back into place. Whatever he'd done, whatever he planned, she wasn't going to go down without a fight. “That was out of date during the war – why do you think they never released it while I was on active duty? I never wanted that for my life, not now and not then. Have you lost what's left of your mind?”

Another faint rumble from over their heads, this time probably from the motor pool on the roof. “Far from it, Frau Rogers – or will it be Wisdom? We can't have Captain America birthing a nameless brat, now can we?”

“Captain America is a man right now, unless my cousin handed the shield over to Samantha Wilson,” said Steph. The clawing need had eased a bit, enough for her to focus instead of simply react. The longer she kept him talking, the more time the serum had to work against the oil he'd smeared on her skin and used to spike her drink. 

“Are you that desperate to get me out of the field, Schmidt? Why? You don't even have a body or you wouldn't be using Wisdom's. What's your end game?”

Schmidt continued as if she'd never opened her mouth. “I'm sure Wisdom will be delighted at your happy news, of course. What man wouldn't, especially when such a superior example of womanhood is - “

“I doubt that. The X gene is tricky enough without getting Erskine's serum involved.” Steph slid around the punching bag in an attempt to keep some distance between her and her oldest enemy. 

_Think, Rogers, think!_. 

“You might get a super baby or you might get a monster, or just an ordinary kid with a bad heart and flat feet – the male version might have bred true, but without a test subject there's no way to be sure. Pete knows that, and so do I.”

Schmidt lunged forward, eyes glowing red as he finally let his dominance over Pete's body show. “Why do you think my daughter's allies stole the Hapsburg ampulla? 'Benedicam tibi et multiplicabo semen tuum sicut stellas caeli' isn't simply a wish for fertility, it's a _promise_ of strong, healthy children. One from Sinthia and one from you – they will be the foundation of a new race, gifted and powerful beyond measure!”

“What makes you think I'd go along with your little plan?” Steph staggered backwards in an unsteady parody of her usual graceful walk, deliberately circling around and away from the bag in a wide arc that forced Schmidt to follow. Her leggings were soaked through at the crotch. “Remember what I told your daughter? I'm a worker bee, not a queen. Even if I loved Pete - “

“Even if?” The scarlet eyes narrowed enough that Schmidt looked like Pete again. “His memories tell a different story. You loved him then, you'll love him again once he's fathered - ”

“He saw what he wanted to see. So did Paul – most of what wrote about me was wishful thinking, not reality, or hadn't you figured that out?” Steph stopped when she felt the smooth wood of the gym bench against the backs of her legs She carefully lowered herself enough to reach for her equipment bag, swallowed when she saw Schmidt start to chuckle. “You're doing the same thing, Schmidt. Twenty-first century, remember? Unless you're planning to keep me chained up for the next nine months, there's no way I'd go through with your plan. Even your precious oil can't make me want someone I don't love, especially since I love - “

She stopped. Even now, even when Tony was beyond his reach, she would not, _would_ not give the Red Skull another reason to gloat over beating Captain America. 

He drew a tiny golden container out of Pete's jeans and held it on high, laughing as she fell silent. “Ah, you recognize it, do you? Did you really think I'd let you and your friends reclaim it after you delayed my plans at Schloss Hexenkreuz? You should have kept an eye on your lover instead of my daughter during the arrests, you know. It was almost too easy to switch that useless American copy for the original while your back was turned.”

He shook his head, then carefully placed the ointment jar on the floor, well away from either of them. “Remember, the oil does more than fill an empty womb. It affects the mind as well. A few drops on the brow and a session with dear, kind Dr. Faustus – oh yes, he knows all about this, who do you think worked on your lover to begin with? - and you'll be every bit as thrilled as Wisdom by the prospect of a family of your own. Soon you'll have forgotten all about - “

She lowered herself into an unsteady crouch, one hand scrabbling about the bottom of her gym bag as the other came up to swipe her hair out of her eyes. “Forgotten about what? Being a free woman? Being a hero? You of all people should know better, Schmidt. How many times have you tried to take me out?”

“More than I care to think about,” he said, all but purring. His right hand glowed like the heart of the sun. “Of course you'll never forget about being Captain America. Why should you? It's such a useful identity, especially when the Mother of Democracy becomes a mother in real life. 

“But our little conversation? Oh yes. Dr. Faustus will make very, very sure of that. You'll never remember a word.”

“Then what's the point?” Steph's hand closed on her watch, thumb slowly circling the dial until it found the right button to push. She slipped her right hand through the band, let her head hang limp as if she were too tired and weak to continue. “Brainwashing Pete, stealing the oil, brainwashing _me_ \- what's the point, Schmidt? Do you really think either of us would let you or anyone you knew near us? Any of us?”

“Of course not,” he said. He was close enough now that Pete's flames were a real danger, and she could not help a tiny shudder at the thought of the damage he could inflict if he got in shot or two. “Sinthia won't remain in custody long – your so-called experts will let their guard down eventually, they always do. She'll be out in plenty of time that her child will be only a year or two younger than yours.

“After that, all we'll need to do is arrange for a casual meeting once they're teenagers, and before you know it they'll realize they were, quite literally made for each other - “

It was madness, pure and simple, but the malice, the cruelty, the sheer evil of creating children this way – even for the Red Skull, this was too much. 

Too much.

Steph bared her teeth as rage boiled through her for everyone who'd been caught up in this insanity: Pete, herself, a child that would never be, even Sin and Crossbones and that poor idiot Lohmer - 

_\- Tony, who would die because of Johann Schmidt's lust for power and revenge -_

“Not a chance, you monster!” she yelled, and with a burst of adrenaline that scoured away the last weakness of lust, she sprang to her feet, threw the bench straight at him with her left hand, and brought up her right hand to cover her body as she activated the photonic shield in her watch.

Schmidt gaped at the bench flying toward him, but only for an instant before bolts of fire streamed from his fingertips to incinerate the heavy equipment in midair. He scarcely waited for it to dissolve in a shower of coals and ash before turning the fire on Steph, all pretense at sanity gone as he screamed one curse after another at her.

The hardened light had never been tested against Pete's mutation, only bullets and solid projectiles. The white areas glowed cherry-red at Schmidt's first strike, and for one awful moment the shield wavered enough that a stream curled past to graze Steph's cheek and vaporize a chunk of hair. She gasped at the blazing, all but unendurable pain, and leaped backwards over her gym bag to gain a few extra yards in case the shield failed completely. 

“American whore!” Schmidt fired more heat, more bolts at Steph. Parts of the floor began to smoke and burn as she deflected attack after attack. “You should be glad I let you live at all - “

“There's no 'let,' Schmidt!” Steph ignored the stench of burned hair and seared flesh, the agony of the burn. The shield was still there, shining and strong, and she ducked her head behind its protection as the flames reflected off it and fountained as high as the ceiling. “You should know by now that I fight to win, or I die trying!”

“We'll see about that!” he shrieked, and charged, hands nearly the same brilliant gold as the flames pouring off them. “I've been waiting for this for sixty miserable years!”

Steph narrowed her eyes against the light, braced herself, and measured the shrinking distance between them. Closer – closer - 

“So have I!” she snarled, and backhanded him halfway across the room with a smash from the photonic shield to his borrowed face. 

A stray gout of flame struck one of the fire control sprinklers overhead. A siren shrilled, emergency lights flashed on and off, and water rained down on them both, cold enough to put out the fires on the floor and on Pete Wisdom's hands even if he hadn't been unconscious before he hit the ground. Steph dropped into a defensive stance, shield up, knees bent, and held it as the sprinklers soaked what was left of her clothes and hair. Pete had no healing factor, no mutated strength or damage-resistant skin, but God only knew what Johann Schmidt might have done to him during the time he'd been a parasite in her old lover's mind.

“Director? Commander Rogers? The heat alarms went off a few minutes ago and - ”

Steph turned her head at the sound of Daisy Johnson's voice, young and urgent as she banged on the door. “In here, Johnson. It's not locked as far as I know.”

“The knob won't turn, someone - “

“To hell with finesse,” said another voice, and a moment later Bucky had broken down the door with a single blow from his metal arm. He froze at the sight of the ruined equipment, the fallen man, the water and the smoke, then spat out a curse and ran to Steph. Natasha was a few steps behind, gun out, nostrils flared at the stink of blood and fire and ash. 

“Steph! Jesus, what the hell - “

Steph waved him off as he automatically reached for her head to check the damage. The wound throbbed with every beat of her heart. “The ointment. What Carol brought back - it's a fake.”

“Fake? What the - “

“I don't know if it's the same fake or a new fake, but what Stephen has won't work.” The rush of battle was starting to fade, leaving an adrenaline crash so violent she swallowed bile. “That's the real one. Whatever's left, get it to Strange. Get it to him now. He'll need it to start the ritual.”

Daisy Johnson, in full uniform except for her left inhibitor cuff, stepped through the ruined doorway, the gamma shift of STRIKE Alpha fanning out from behind her to secure the room. “Director, you're injured, and so is Agent Wisdom. We need a doctor and some idea of what just - “

“Johnson. I'm only going to say this once.” Steph raised her left hand, palm out. _Never lose hope,_ Lady Clea had said, and it looked as if she'd been right. “I know you were never in the service, but we have an old saying in the Army that you should know.”

“I don't – I - “

“It's very simple, Johnson.” Steph lowered her arm, swept her gaze up and down the younger woman. “When a superior officer says 'jump,' her soldiers say 'how high?' Do you understand?”

“I – yes, Director. I understand.” There was the faintest rumble from the floor as Johnson squared her shoulders and gestured at the nearest STRIKE agent. “Take this item to Dr. Strange at Lenox Hill Hospital, stat!”

“Yes, ma'am. Right away!” An agent Steph recognized as a former sparring partner picked up the ointment, carefully tucked it into a pouch on his tactical vest, and started for the door. 

Natasha, who hadn't said a word, nodded at Bucky, who nodded back. 

“I'm coming with you, Malinowski. We're not taking any chances,” she said, and followed the STRIKE agent out the door.

Steph did not move as Johnson picked her way through the slick puddles on the padded floor toward the intercom. “Medical? This is Johnson. We need a medical team and a couple of forensics in the Level 35 gym. One man is down, the Director's been injured - “

Bucky rested his right hand, warm and callused and alive, on Steph's upper arm to offer what comfort he could as Johnson gave order after order. Steph laid her own hand over his long enough to reassure herself that this was real, not what Johann Schmidt had planned for her, then released it and finally, _finally_ let her shoulders sag and the light shield disappear back into her watch.

“What happened, Steph?” Bucky watched as an EMT, grimacing at the water cascading down from the ceiling, knelt by Pete to check his pupils. “Did Hydra get inside somehow?”

“You could put it that way,” Steph said, biting back a less than steady laugh, and told him everything.


	11. Chapter 10

_From the memory banks of Antonia Edwina Stark [deleted]_

_…”Tony? Are you around?”_

_“Considering that I live here, why yes. I am.” Tony emerged from her room and drifted to the upstairs landing, scrubbing at her hair. She hadn’t bothered to shower when she’d finally fallen into bed, and the allegedly fashionable cut was stiff from a combination of silicone lubricant, overpriced styling product, and WD-40. “Shouldn’t you be checking in at your atelier, Ms. Van Dyne?”_

_“Been and gone hours ago,” Jan laughed, shaking rain from her coat before handing it off to Jarvis with a little nod of acknowledgment. “The spring collection is going to make Karl and Jean-Paul and Yves drop dead from envy”_

_“Good for you. I still haven’t forgiven your little buddy Gaultier for trying to stuff me into a corset two years ago.” Tony scratched discreetly at the lower edge of the chest plate for the latest armor build. It was light, flexible, and held enough of a charge that she could take it off for a few hours to sleep or wear normal clothing, but that didn’t meant she enjoyed having what was left of her ribs crushed by a ball gown. “Knock ‘em dead, Van Dyne.”_

_“That’s the plan.” Jan smiled merrily and fluffed her freshly trimmed hair. She stepped to the side as Jarvis opened the front door for another, taller figure. This one wore a sweeping trench coat and a wide brimmed felt hat, and was burdened by several packages from Manhattan’s finest stores. “Steph, what are you doing? I told you I’d be back for those!”_

_The other woman handed two boxes to Jarvis and kicked the door shut before unpinning her hat. Her golden hair lay across her shoulders in sleek, smooth waves that came to just below her shoulders. “And I told you it wasn’t a problem since most of them are mine anyway.”_

_“That’s not the point,” said Jan, planting her hands on her hips with a little tsk tsk. “You don’t have to do everything yourself, you know.”_

_Steph untied the sash of her coat and stood very still as Jarvis eased it off her shoulders. Her eyes sparkled as she batted her lashes and gave him a smile that was straight off a war bonds poster. “Thank awfully, Jarvis, that was just what I needed. I really don’t know what I’d do without a man to take care of me.”_

_Jarvis bowed solemnly, and if she hadn’t known better Tony could have sworn he was grinning. “Always glad to be of service, Captain Rogers.”_

_Jan took an affectionate swat at Steph’s arm. “I never said you couldn’t carry all our packages, just that for once you might let someone help you.” She gave her friend a hug, then turned her so Tony could get a good look._

_“Well? What do you think?”_

_“I think you’ve been shopping,” said Tony. She slowly descended the stairs until she was close enough to take in the expertly applied makeup and elegantly manicured nails on both women. “You two make me feel even grubbier than usual.”_

_“You could have come along,” said Steph. The teasing note was gone from her voice. “I know you don’t like fussing all that much, but it would have been fun just spending time together for a couple hours.”_

_“Yeah, I’m not exactly a girly girl, at least when I’m not preening for the cameras.” Tony slowly circled her, taking in the flawless cut of the blue tweed trousers and matching jacket, the soft cashmere turtleneck in the perfect cream to bring out the roses in Steph’s cheeks. “You, on the other hand, look like a million bucks, and I say that as someone who knows from millions. Wow.”_

_Steph blushed, and if Tony hadn’t known better she could have sworn her friend was actually batting her eyes. “Girly girl? Tony, I used to wear makeup and perfume even when I was on patrol for a couple of weeks. Just because I was a soldier didn’t mean I couldn’t pretty myself up when I had to.”_

_Jan stepped between them before Tony could do something idiotic, like tell Steph she looked great even when she was hosing Skrull guts off her shield. “Which is why I took you out today, darling. There’s nothing like a few hours of retail therapy to lift a girl’s spirits, I always say.”_

_Tony folded her arms and leaned against the banister, grateful for the distraction. Jan knew her all too well, and a good thing too. The last thing the Avengers needed was their field commander having an attack of gay panic at the expense of their financial backer. “’Retail therapy’? Why, Janet Van Dyne. You know very well that Captain America is much too serious to waste her time doing something so silly and – “_

_“Silly? I used to hit the Elizabeth Arden counter every single time I was home on leave for a quick touchup,” said Steph, flawless red lips quirking slightly. “Carried a tube of Victory Red lipstick in my kit, too, along with a couple of blasting caps wrapped in a silk scarf painted with a map of Normandy. Like I said, just because I’m a soldier doesn’t mean I can’t look good.”_

_“Got it,” said Tony, and wondered what Steph would say if Tony told her just how good she looked right now –_

_[file ends]_

 

There were butterflies on the ceiling.

Not real ones, of course. No, these were delicate little Mylar confections glued to the air vent directly above the examining table in Medical's OB/GYN room, right where whomever was getting a pelvic could be distracted by their bright, artificial wings. Steph had only been there once or twice thanks to the serum, but she’d gone with friends a few times to keep them company.

Now she lay back and stared at the butterflies while Faiza Hussain gave her the most disturbing medical examination of her life.

It didn’t hurt. Dr. Hussain's talent for essentially turning a patient into an anatomical specimen while she corrected anomalies, injuries, and illnesses was both bloodless and painless. It was why Stephen Strange had asked her to assist him in the first place while he worked on Tony, and why she'd come to Central to treat Steph once the magical portion of the ritual had begun. “You won’t feel a thing,” Dr. Hussain had assured her, and so far she hadn’t been lying. 

This did not mean Steph had any intention of looking down. She’d seen enough internal organs on the battlefield without needing a view of her own viscera and pelvis floating in midair while the quiet Englishwoman became one with her cells. Butterflies, even fake ones, were just fine for now.

“I think we’re done,” said Dr. Hussain, and there was a faint cool sensation as everything settled back into place. The blue glow that had suffused the room faded to nothing. “You can sit up now, Commander, and we can talk.”

Steph smoothed the paper drape down over her belly, pulled her feet out of the stirrups, and pushed herself upright. Dr. Hussain stood quietly by the sink, washing her hands even though the closest she'd come to actual blood had been when she'd removed the field dressing from Steph's cheek and regrown the burnt skin. 

“Well.” Steph did her best to sound normal. “I assume everything’s where it’s supposed to be?”

“Indeed,” said Dr. Hussain. Her voice was smooth and well educated, with only the faintest trace of her ancestral accent. “I must say I’m impressed by whatever is in your serum. You’re in perfect health, with no signs of anomalies, injury, or previous surgical procedures. That includes the appendectomy you underwent in 1934.”

Steph’s fingers twisted in the surgical drape. “That wasn’t an appendectomy. It was – “

“I know exactly what it was, Commander,” came the calm reply. “I read your _complete_ medical file before we began, including the medical history you gave to Dr. Erskine. I'm quite aware that the ‘appendectomy’ was actually a surgical sterilization, even if they did remove your appendix at the same time. It was the first thing I looked for.”

Steph looked down at her feet, long and elegant and high-arched thanks to the serum. “So you’re saying that healed along with everything else in 1940.”

Dr. Hussain hesitated. “That’s correct. There isn’t so much as a hairline scar to mark where your fallopian tubes were cut.”

“That’s good, I suppose.” Steph shivered as a jet of cold air from the butterflies ghosted over her back. “Dr. Erskine had no idea if that would be one of the side effects. Thanks.”

“Commander – “

“Doctor.” Steph lifted her chin, met the doctor’s eyes square on. She’d never flinched from bad news in her life, and she wasn’t going to start now. “What else did you find?”

“Nothing, Commander Rogers,” said Dr. Hussain. She smiled, gentle and calm. “Your serum worked. You’re not pregnant.”

Steph's hands locked on the sides of the examining table as she finally allowed herself to think about what had nearly happened in the gym. “I didn’t – I didn’t think I was, not really. Agent Wisdom and I - we hadn't quite gotten to the point where that would have been a realistic possibility.“

She swallowed. “It's just that - I’ve had problems with memories going missing or being buried ever since I came out of the ice. I wanted to be sure he hadn’t somehow – “

_Call it what it is. Even if it never actually happened._

“ – assaulted me without my knowledge. The Red Skull's consciousness, or at least some part of it, was buried so deep in his mind that Agent Wisdom himself wasn't aware of it. If Schmidt could do that to a trained operative, God knows what else he might have done.”

"I'm glad I was able to ease your fears.” Dr. Hussain lightly patted her on the shoulder, hand shifting upwards to stroke what was left of her hair at the first tiny, involuntary tremor. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen a man try to control a woman by forcing a child upon her. Taking what should be joyous and tainting it beyond measure - it’s the purest sort of evil.”

“I should have known something was off.” Steph leaned against her for the briefest of moments. She'd refused the protein shake the med team had tried to get her drink - _no more smoothies, never never never_ \- and would have killed for an energy bar. “Oil that brings fertility, a man who once loved me - “

“Hindsight is always perfect.” Dr. Hussain stepped back from the table, retrieved Excalibur from a corner, and strapped the great sword to her waist. “You probably would like some privacy now. Perhaps a chance to clean up?”

“Good idea. I'm probably pretty ripe by now.” Steph brushed automatically at her hair, hissing as her fingertips brushed stubble, not strands. “Damn. I suppose I'll have to cut it all short now.”

"Not necessarily," said Dr. Hussain. She adjusted her hijab and gave Steph a brilliant smile. "I understand layers are very much in fashion right now, or so the magazines claim."

Steph slipped off the table, drape still covering her from the waist down, and padded over to the bench that held her singed leggings and ruined cross-trainers. "I don't think this is quite what they had in mind," she said, running her fingers over the short side. Maybe she could comb what was left down to cover the damage? 

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," said Dr. Hussain. She paused, one hand on the doorknob. "Your cousin is outside. What should I tell him?"

"That I need the go-bag and boots from my locker." Steph nodded in the direction of the bathroom. "I should be ready in about ten minutes."

"Of course," said Dr. Hussain, and shut the door behind her with a faint but definite click.

The bathroom was small, with a single porcelain toilet, plain vanity, and wood framed mirror. A small table held a stack of clean towels and a basket of individually wrapped toiletries, small plastic combs, deodorant wipes for post-mammogram freshening up, and generic tampons. Tiny plastic-wrapped cups for urine samples sat on a metal shelf below a cut-out that allowed patients to hand off their fluids directly to the lab.

"Thanks, Nick," Steph murmured, knowing full well that this was the work of Maria Hill or possibly Daisy Johnson. Nick Fury had been unusually tolerant of women in the field, even during the war, but that didn't mean he'd think to stock up on luxuries like hotel-sized bottles of moisturizer or miniature cakes of complexion soap.

She stripped to the skin and washed her face, hands, and body until she no longer stank of smoke and antiseptic cream. The sink wasn't high enough for her to stick her whole head under the water, but she managed to get her hair wet enough to rinse away the worst traces of ash and sweat and blood. By the time Bucky knocked softly on the door precisely ten minutes later, she was clean enough to pass muster until she could get a proper shower.

"Steph? You decent?" 

"Nothing you haven't seen before," Steph said. She opened the door far enough to grab her go-bag, wrapped her ruined sports bra and panties into a ball, and shoved them into the trash, followed by her cross-trainers. "You alone?"

"Yeah." Bucky, bareheaded but otherwise in full uniform, studiously examined the ceiling while she pulled on her underwear, spare jeans, and a plain blue t-shirt. "Nat decided that she didn't trust anyone but herself to get Pete to the medical unit over at the Raft so they can make sure he's actually himself when he wakes up and not the Skull. Normally I'd call her paranoid, but this whole op was so FUBAR'd I can't blame her."

"Neither can I." Steph yanked a comb through her hair, grabbed an elastic from her go-bag, and coiled the ragged mess into a club at the nape of her neck. The burn on her cheek was the only trace of color on her face. "God. I look like hell."

"You're entitled, Steph." Bucky reclaimed her bag as she shoved her feet into a pair of boots that weren't quite broken in, gathered up the towels, and dropped them into a laundry hamper. "What a clusterfuck."

"No kidding." Steph carefully poked the scorch mark and wondered how long before it faded. "Any word on from the hospital?"

Bucky shook his head. "Not since they finished up. Pepper said Strange looked as pleased as he ever does, but who can tell with him?” Bucky fell into step beside Steph as she walked out of the examination room and into the hall. "Butterflies?"

"You wouldn't understand," said Steph. The corridor was chilly enough that she wished he'd brought her leather jacket. "You got wheels? I want to swing by Lenox Hill and see for myself."

"You sure about that?" Bucky raised an eyebrow as Steph headed to the nearest elevator and punched the _up_ key. "You haven't slowed down since yesterday. A solid meal and a couple hours rack time couldn't hurt."

"Since when do you get to mother-hen me?" The elevator dinged. Steph slipped inside almost before the doors retracted fully. "Yeah, I could sleep, and I wouldn't say no to a steak. But Tony - she's why I did all of this. If Strange was wrong, if Tony's still - "

 _Dying. Dead. Gone before I could talk to her. Before I said what I should have said years ago whether the Army or the President or anyone else thought -_

" - out of it, I need to know." She covered her face with one bloodless hand as the entire horrible day, week, _weeks_ , finally caught up. "She has to wake up, Buck. _Has_ to. Otherwise none of it means a damn thing, not for her, not - not for me or - "

Bucky slid in after her, jaw set. He did not speak until they were halfway to the motor pool on the roof. "Steph?"

She sucked in a desperate breath, swiped tears from her right eye, then her left. The scar on her cheek stung at the faint trace of salt on her knuckles. "If you're considering giving me some friendly advice, reconsider. I know this is a mess and - "

"Advice? Jesus, Steph, give me some credit for a change." Bucky hit the STOP button, turned, and held out his arms. "I was just going to offer to drive."

He might have been younger than Steph, and an inch or two shorter, but he'd always known when the Mother of Democracy yielded to the girl from Brooklyn Heights. Steph sagged against him, face buried against his shoulder, arms wrapped close around him, grateful beyond words for his silent, solid presence. 

Eventually he shifted in place, and she straightened up. Bucky pulled a surprisingly clean wad of Puffs Plus tissues out of one of his utility pouches and held it out to her. Steph blew her nose and let her head fall back against the stainless steel wall of the elevator car. 

“I love her.” 

Bucky put his hands on his hips. “Steph - “

“I – I think I always have, deep down.” She hugged herself, unable to meet his eyes. He hadn't been there for Cindy's death or the warning she'd gotten from General Simon about keeping any “unnatural impulses“ in check, but the rumors that had followed her until she'd taken up with Paul Wisdom? “I tried to love Pete, I really did. Bernie, too, and Paul before that, but I never could, not the way I was supposed to. I just – I couldn't say anything, I still can't and I – I - “

“Steph. I was there, remember?” Bucky retrieved the sodden tissues and wiped her face clean with another handful. “You liking girls more than boys isn't news, at least to me.”

She blinked. There was nothing but compassion and love in his eyes, the way there always had been when a mission went south. “You knew?”

Bucky pursed his lips. “You think I didn't see all those female nudes in your sketchbooks? Mom didn't raise no dummies, y'know.”

“God.” The only sound was the faint hiss of air from the ventilation system. “You okay with it? Me being - ”

_Say it, Steph. Say it._

“ - bisexual?”

“Now who's being a dummy?” Bucky gave her a little shake. “I can't speak for anyone else, but seriously? The only people this'll surprise are Stretch Armstrong and maybe a couple of Xavier's kids, and they don't count in my book. 

“As for you and Tony – I'd last five minutes with her, tops. Then again, I'm the one sleeping with Natasha Romanoff, so what the hell do I know?”

"More than most people will give you credit for" she said. Her voice was grainy with fatigue and the relief of knowing that, as always, Bucky had her back. "Guess you should take the wheel, Buck. Last thing we need is me getting pulled over for buzzing the Chrysler Building 'cause I'm too punchy to drive."

Bucky snorted and hit the STOP button. The elevator started upward again with a distinct jerk. "Yeah, that'd go over real good with the press. Jameson'd practically have an orgasm, he'd be so happy to nail you for driving - flying? - under the influence."

Steph slapped him on the metal shoulder as they emerged onto the roof. The air was cold and clear and everything she needed. "Thanks for that image, Buck. I really needed it." 

"Glad to help," he said, and opened the passenger door to one of the few non-convertibles in the motor pool. "All joking aside, we should head back to your place so you can get some rest. Pepper or Jane will call if there's a change."

Steph sank back against the thickly cushioned seat. Her own bed, a hot meal, a real shower and clothes that didn't smell like her last real workout - 

_" - there is no guarantee of success, Commander. This ritual has not been attempted in centuries. We may not know for some time if this has done more than simply ease her passing to - "_

"No. I need to see her." Steph hiked herself upright enough that the seatbelt wouldn't choke her if she somehow managed to nod off. "You can pour me into bed later."

Bucky gave her a shrewd look, then did as he was told. "Don't think I won't," he muttered as the sedan rose into the air and headed for Lenox Hill.

Neither spoke during the short ride to the hospital, nor the walk to the Carbonell Pavilion. Agent Stephenson-El visibly jerked at the sight of Steph's injuries, but recovered enough to run them through all the usual checks before calling Tony's room and waving them behind the heavy double doors.

Pepper, clothes immaculate despite the hour, stood waiting for them in the hall. She stifled a yawn and straightened her suit jacket as they approached. 

"Steph." She held out her hands and kissed Steph on her uninjured cheek before Steph could react. "I'm so glad you're all right. I heard there was trouble at SHIELD Central.”

"Nothing I couldn’t handle," said Steph, gaze flicking down to her watch for an instant. If she hadn't worn it to the gym - 

“Is anyone else here? I know Stephen and Lady Clea left already, but the others?"

Pepper did not reply until she'd given Bucky's human hand a quick, firm squeeze of greeting. "No one except medical staff. Reed did try to crash the ritual, but I had him escorted out before he could much as shove a finger under the door - “

“Fingers my ass. Tendrils is more like it,” muttered Bucky, sour enough that Steph wondered what had gone on between them while she'd been trapped in time.

" - but then again he never likes to be wrong, especially when magic is involved."

"Wrong?" Steph's breath caught in her throat. "You mean Tony – she's - "

Pepper smiled then, and the joy on her face outshone the noonday sun. "She's fine, Steph. _Fine._ She woke up an hour ago and she's absolutely fine.”

“Oh God. Oh _God_?" Steph groped for the wall, one hand splayed flat against the case for a fire extinguisher as Pepper's words sank in. "You're certain? Has Jane checked her out?"

"From top to bottom, and like I said, she's fine. No brain damage, no memory loss, nothing. The oil even reversed some of the worst effects of the coma." Pepper tried and failed to suppress another yawn. "Extremis isn't on line, but everything else is so good Jane's talking about sending her home tomorrow morning morning. It's a miracle."

_A miracle._

The corridor was warm, almost too warm after the cold of the night, and Steph was glad her lower arms were bare. "The oil - is there any left?"

Pepper shook her head. "Not a drop. Stephen was actually a bit surprised - there should have been more in the ampulla according to whatever records he consulted - "

Bucky scowled and muttered _no shit, Sherlock_.

" - but he made do with what there was," Pepper finished. “Tony's not happy about Extremis, but otherwise? She's never been better. Go in and see for yourself."

"Myself?" Steph glanced over at Bucky. He lifted his chin a notch and shrugged. "She's up to visitors?"

"Visitors, no." Pepper gestured at the door. "You? Always.”

Steph reached for the door but stopped with her fingertips an inch or two from the metal. "Are you sure that's a good idea? The last time we spoke - "

_”Tell this, Director Stark \- was it worth it?" Steph yanked at the bars, lips skinned back from her teeth in a feral snarl. Tony, jaw clenched tight, hissed as the reinforced metal actually groaned. "Was any of this worth it? Damn you to hell, answer me!”_

“ – didn’t go well. If she thinks I’m still angry at her - " 

“Oh no you don’t. Don't even think about it,” said Bucky. His face was set in what Aunt Winnie had called his "don't even _start_ " expression. "Not after what you just said. You talk to that woman _now_ , or I swear to God I'm givin' you back the shield, right here in front of a witness."

"Bucky, this might not be the - "

" _Go_ ," said Bucky, and before she could so much as blink he'd opened the door and shoved her straight into Tony Stark's room.

An IV line was still in place, along with the machines monitoring her vitals. The readouts shone bright green on black: BP 120/72, pulse 68, blood oxygenation 98%. Tony, hair a flat, unclean mess, lips bloodless, cheekbones sharp under skin that was still too pale to be healthy, sat cross-legged on the bed, staring at a tablet. A tray with the remains of a bowl of brownish liquid and a small plate of rubbery Jell-O sat by the window.

Steph had to remember to breathe. _Awake – she's awake – she's all right, thank God, thank God \- _

"Tony?"

Tony's head jerked up, nostrils flaring and eyes enormous as recognition sank in. Her hands twisted together hard enough that the oxygen sensor on her left middle finger came loose. Her pulse spiked upwards: 70, 75, 82. “My God. Steph?”

“Yeah.” The new boots were all but soundless as Steph slowly crossed the room. “I came to see how you were doing.”

“Alive and well, or so Strange says. How, I’m not sure.” There was a bruise at the corner of Tony's mouth from being intubated. "You – “

“The same.” Steph crossed the room and lowered herself into a small chair next to the bed. What was clearly Pepper’s handbag was slung over the back. “Alive, and not exactly clear on how it happened. I’m not questioning it, though.”

"That's good. Really good." There was a soft but insistent beep from the oxygen sensor. Tony bared her teeth in its direction but obediently shoved it back onto her middle finger. “You wouldn't happen to know where my armor is? Between the beeps and the IV and the fucking catheter they just took out ten minutes ago, I’m ready to blow this place straight to hell.”

It was definitely Tony, brilliant and spoiled and so fiercely _alive_. “You'd have to ask Pepper that one. The Avengers aren't really my job anymore.”

“As long as Osborn didn't impound it – “ Tony stopped herself before the rant could truly begin. “Pepper told me he’s out as Director of HAMMER or NAIL or SCREW or whatever he renamed SHIELD. True?”

“It's SHIELD again, and I'm in charge, at least till I clean up the mess Osborn left behind,” said Steph, and oh, how good it was to talk with Tony again like friends, like the near-sisters they had been so many years. “He's on the Raft along with most of his so-called Avengers. Ares is holed up at the UN squawking about diplomatic immunity - "

"Asshole," said Tony, quick and fervent, and it was all Steph could do to choke down a laugh. "What about the rest?"

"Ant-Man turned state's evidence, a couple of small fry pled out, and SHIELD's hunting down the rest. They won’t get far.”

“Thank God for small favors and minor miracles.” Tony ran a hand back through her hair, grimacing slightly at the greasy feel. She stared past Steph at the glittering lights of the city outside the window. “Miracles. I never thought – I never thought I’d actually be grateful for magic. You know I hate that stuff.”

“I’m not usually a fan of it either.” Steph eased the chair closer to the bed. She started to reach for one of the too-thin hands clenched in Tony’s lap but stopped . “Tony. Before we go any further, I want you to know I’m sorry we ever – “

“Oh no, Rogers. No, no, no.” Tony shifted in place, dislodging the tablet from her lap. It was open to the story in the _Bugle_ about Repeal. “Don't you dare try to apologize. That's my job.”

Her hand came up before Steph could protest. "One thing first. I still don’t think I was wrong about Registration. After the mess at Stamford, the government was going to rein us in whether we liked it or not. What got passed was a shitty law, but it was the best Congress could - _would_ do on such short notice.”

Her pulse spiked for a few beats. “Where I fell down – no, not a _word_ , you get your turn when I’m done – where I blew it was not telling you right away what was going on. You had a right to know about Project Wideawake. About what was in the SHRA before it came out of committee. Maybe if I'd told you - if we’d worked together instead of trying to rip each others' heads off we could have done something without – without – “

Tears, silent and hot, slid down her cheeks. “ – losing so many friends. Speedball’s a wreck, Spidey couldn't get hired to run a hotdog cart, Happy’s gone – “

“Tony, it wasn’t all your fault.” Steph slipped easily from the chair to the bed, one hand closing over Tony's before she could stop herself. The oil had restored some of the lost flesh, but her nails were still too long and her bones too prominent. “I should have asked you what was going on the minute I heard the first rumors of trouble. That's on me."

"I couldn't have told you everything." Tony's free hand closed over Steph's, squeezed as if to reassure herself that Steph was alive and well, not a fever dream. "I wanted to, I swear I did, but - "

"I should have trusted you instead of using that damn EMP," Steph blurted out. The shame of that moment, the shock and anger and betrayal in Tony's eyes, would never leave her. "That final battle, when I almost killed you - “

“I _did_ kill you,” Tony said, and the quiet anguish in her voice was almost too much to bear. “Seeing you go down at the courthouse – knowing it was my fault – “

She abruptly tried to pull her hands free of Steph's. “How the hell can you even stand to be in the same room with me? How? You should hate me, everyone else does, I – “

"Stop. Just _stop_." It was the most natural thing in the world to gather the smaller woman into her arms, to bury her face in the filthy hair and thank whatever God there was for this small mercy. "Like I give a tinker's damn what anyone else thinks. You saved my life, gave me a home when I had nowhere to go – I couldn't hate you any more than I could hate my right arm. Tony - "

"It wasn't worth it. Not if the price was you." Tony drew back long enough to bring her hand to the fading scars on Steph's cheek, fingertips tracing a line down to what should have been the bullet scars in her neck. "I tried to make things right. I swear I did. I tried to keep the world safe, tried to make everyone happy. But without - without you, it all went straight to hell."

Steph laced her fingers through Tony's, brought them to her lips without conscious thought. "You couldn't have known about the Skrulls. None of us did, me included."

"I'm the futurist, remember? I should have foreseen - " Tony jerked at the soft press of Steph's mouth on her knuckles. Her eyes were so very, very blue in the glow from the window. "Not that it would have mattered in the end. I'm never as good at anything without you there at my side. We were doomed the second I activated those damn cuffs – you would have lived without them, it's all my - "

"Tony, Tony. Stop." Steph pressed her forehead to Tony's, ran a hand up and down the bumps of her spine. It was not her imagination that Tony shuddered at her touch. "We both made mistakes, a lot of mistakes. But here we are."

"Steph - " 

"I'm reborn. You're rebooted. It's a a clean start." Steph tipped her chin back and drank in the sight of her. Whatever Tony had done, whatever she thought she'd done, she'd more than paid for it. "Let's not waste it this time."

“Waste it? I don't - “ Tony stared at her, shock and yearning and so, so much pain flashing through her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Something I should have done years ago,” Steph said, and kissed her, soft and long and so, so careful. 

Tony whimpered, then responded, too-thin hands digging into Steph's shoulders, lips parting just enough for it to be more than two old friends reconnecting. “"You - I thought you didn't - " 

There was something very much like wonder in Tony's voice. Steph waited for her to go on. Whatever happened next had to be her choice as well. "You always did like girls, too. Didn't you?"

"Always," Steph said, and kissed her again. "Cindy Glass during Basic, a couple of nurses when I was still stationed at Lehigh. I couldn't ever admit it – they would have given a blue ticket so fast your head would spin, serum or not – but yeah. I did."

There was a murmur from the hall, and a growl from Bucky warning off whatever nurse was on duty. 

"I like boys, too, at least sometimes. That's why I tried with Paul during the war, and then with Pete and Bernie. I nearly married Bernie, and I would have done my best by him. He's a great guy and we actually might have had a chance.

“But then I'd look at you and - even when I loved someone else, even when I'd lost someone else, I'd always come back to you." Steph closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself as Bernie's wife, or even Pete's. _A little church, family and friends... A garden in the sun.... Partners to lovers..._ “You're the one constant in my life, Tony, ever since I woke up. I was just too stubborn and too scared of what other people would say to admit it till it was almost too late.”

"Guess that makes two of us, babe," said Tony, and pulled Steph down into a kiss that was equal parts joy and desperation. Her mouth tasted of rubbery gelatin and hospital-brand toothpaste, and Steph would have taken it over oysters and strawberries in a heartbeat. “Don't get killed again, Steph. Promise me, I can't – I couldn't - “

“Only if you promise not to delete your brain,” Steph said, kissing her face, her hands, her disgraceful hair. “Seeing you in a coma – mother and country, Tony, don't be a martyr, it's hard enough coming back without you - “

So many apologies, explanations. So much that had been there all along but had never been spoken aloud.

_I'm never as good at anything without you there at my side._

_I'm reborn. You're rebooted. It's a second chance._

“Stay for a while? I don't think they'll kick you out,” Tony murmured at last. She was so light, almost frail, but her eyes were so bright. “If you can, that is. Being a presidential adviser has its perks but being on call 24-7 sucks.”

“Taking some personal time is one of the perks. I'm entitled.” Steph maneuvered herself so she was lying back against the pillows, Tony cradled against her heart. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but it would do for now. “Not that I could stay awake long enough for Buck to get me home. It's been a hell of a couple days.”

“No kidding.” Tony laced her fingers through Steph's, tilted her head back so she could see Steph's face. “I missed you so much. So damn much.”

“Missed you too,” murmured Steph. She pressed a kiss into Tony's hair and let the last tension drain away. “Get some sleep, Shellhead.”

“You too, Winghead.” Tony nestled close. “As long as you're here in the morning.”

“Count on it,” Steph whispered. “Count on it.”

 

_Sure on this shining night_  
Of star made shadows round,  
Kindness must watch for me  
This side the ground.  
The late year lies down the north.  
All is healed, all is health.  
High summer holds the earth.  
Hearts all whole.  
Sure on this shining night I weep for wonder wand'ring far alone  
Of shadows on the stars. 

_James Agee_


	12. Notes

First, my thanks again to Dingobait and Fynndin for their wonderful art. They were everything I'd hoped for, and I'm humbled beyond words that they were so inspired by my words.

Second, this fic is primarily Marvel 616 but there are a few whispers of other Avengers versions creeping in. I write primarily MCU, so my apologies if the fandom-creep is disturbing somehow.

Third, this story is a prequel to _A Perennial Blessing_ , which had Steph and Tony as an established couple and is set a few years later. I got to wondering about how they'd gotten together, and when, and why they weren't officially out to the public. These combined with some real issues I had had with the _Captain America: Reborn_ storyline (see below), and I started working on a few ideas last summer. I had a very rough time getting it to gel, and I hope it worked somehow.

Fourth, as much as I love Ed Brubaker's writing, I was appalled by the way that Sharon Carter's pregnancy, from beginning to end to never being mentioned or having any sort of repercussions, was handled. This was my attempt to handle the issue with a female Captain America and a brainwashed male lover. Thus Pete Wisdom, secret agent and mutant with flame powers, was substituted for Sharon Carter, secret agent and one-time fire victim, and instead of getting Captain America's girlfriend pregnant and stealing the baby, the Red Skull and Sin are out to trick Captain America herself into bearing a child for their nefarious purposes. 

Fifth, here are some miscellaneous references:

\- Dwight Eisenhower and _Crusade in Europe_ \- everything but the section directly discussing Captain America is a quote from Eisenhower's wartime memoir. Eisenhower himself worked closely with several women on the general staff and thought very highly of them, so it didn't seem much of a stretch for him to think highly of a female super soldier. Also - many of these women were lesbians or bisexual, almost always closeted due to Army regulations against homosexuality.

\- WAC training at Prescott College - the armed forces indeed trained female officers, particularly the WAVES (Navy), at small private colleges such as Hunter and Smith. I moved up the time of Steph's WAC training (and her meeting with her first girlfriend, Cindy Glass) by about eighteen months to fit with 616 canon stating that Steve Rogers got the serum in 1940.

\- Rusterman's Restaurant is from Rex Stout's brilliant Nero Wolfe series of mystery novels. The man who accompanies Steph and her mother to the place, James Rowan, is the father of Lily Rowan, Wolfe sidekick Archie Goodwin's longtime partner.

\- Oysters, asparagus, truffles, and strawberries are all reputed to be aphrodisiacs.

\- The Hapsburg royal regalia has been rumored to have mystical powers for generations. Most of these have centered on the Holy Lance, which was reputed to be the one that pierced Jesus' side during the Crucifixion, but the entire set was allegedly so powerful that Hitler made sure to steal it from Austria after the Anschluss. Worse, Monuments Man Walter Horn discovered that SS chief Heinrich Himmler may actually have been planning to use it to constitute an actual order of Aryan knights from the cream of his followers.

\- "Hexenkreuz" means "Magical Cross" or "Cursed Cross." 

_ The Lebensborn program, where SS officers were encouraged to impregnate as many lovely blonde Aryan women as possible to create a master race, was real. Women in Lebensborn homes were coddled, given excellent care, and lavished with luxuries such as chocolate, fresh milk, fresh vegetables, and meat that were denied to the rest of the country during the war.

\- I decided to make Bucky and Steph cousins, because I needed a reason for an adult woman to be running around with a teenage boy that would have passed muster in the 1940's. I briefly considered making them siblings, but cousins allowed for more of the comics backstory. It also allowed for them to be intimate without being sexual.

Finally, here is the music that inspired me: Morten Lauridsen's beautiful, quiet setting of James Agee's poem _Sure On This Shining Night_ , as performed by Vox Humana: [Sure On This Shining Night.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wio1hcuAAAk)


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